


There and Back Again (was 100 Drabble Challenge)

by Levade



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, I really don't do true drabbles, LLF Comment Project, Wanking Comment Fest, it's nice to write about whomever you want, little stories that don't go anywhere else, range from Lord of the Rings to Silmarillion, some are part of other stories, without having to plot an entire story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 20,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Levade/pseuds/Levade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I changed the title of this since only a few of the pieces were actually drabbles and I didn't entirely follow NirCele's prompt list. They're more very short stories that don't belong anywhere else. First up, "fire" and what could be a continuation from my story "Malaise". CH. 41 a little moment from "Fields of Gold".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is too long to really be a drabble. I clock it at 500 words, just squeaking under the challenge guidelines. Could be considered part of the story "Malaise" comes from. Set on the plains of Orodruin, after the One Ring rode off with the unfortunate Isildur...

**Fire**

 

"Give me my sword!"

"No."

The wash of fire and fury swept his veins, igniting wrath he had never felt. "Give. Me. My. Sword."

Deadly calm. Deathly earnest.

Met with the implacable, immovable.   "No."   Blue eyes gentle, the blood-stained captain adamant. "You are not yourself."

It was not the first time, but by the stars it would be the last. He stepped closer, invading, pushing boundaries, sick, oh so sick. "Who am I then." Looked deep into the blue eyes, seeing the dance of light long gone from Arda, deeper to the darkness of death and the rise from the ashes.

"You are son, brother, orphan, survivor, herald. Friend. One who lost much, too much and one I will not see stain his hands with the blood of kin."

"He is lost to the Ring! Maddened!" He used his anger to shove against the broad chest and bared his teeth in satisfaction as Glorfindel staggered back a step. "I should have thrown him in, but now I cannot see him ride off with that abomination!"

There was a sword at his side, very near Elrond's hand. Círdan, watching but holding all others back, held a sword. Glorfindel took back that step, and unbuckled the sword from his side. "Then use my sword."

"I would not-"

"No? Think you above the ring's lure? You, who have been stripped of father and mother, of twin and those who would be like a father. You to whom, even now, others look to take up the mantle of High King, to lead your people to their former glory." Glorfindel lowered his voice. "Can you deny you have longed for its fire to kindle your weary heart?"

Elrond had seen it there on the cusp of the crater. One sweep of his sword and the ring would be his, the fire would be his, the power to save his people. His.

"Take it. Ride him down. Cut it from his hand. Kill him." Glorfindel shoved the sword against Elrond's chest. "Then I shall weep as I kill you."

Shock widened the grey eyes and Elrond stepped back. There was cold resolve in Glorfindel's eyes that doused the fire raging in his heart.

"I will not see you with that ring on your hand, Elrond Eärendilion."

"We cannot do naught." Elrond rallied his resolve, still uneasy with the cool flame in the blue eyes. "Isildur must be stopped!"

Lowering the sword, Glorfindel shook his head. "The ring will be his doom, Elrond."

He looked to the volcano, still smoldering, still seething with enough fire to melt the grief of them all. "I should have thrown him in."

"You aren't a kin-slayer."

"Enough. Disperse!" Círdan barked the order as he turned to men and elves who had gathered to watch the commotion. "See to the wounded!"

"Glorfind-"

"Go. Rest." Glorfindel met his gaze and held it. "Let us bear Gil-galad to his tent, Elrond."

A glance to the fire-burnt form, his king, his friend. Elrond turned away.


	2. Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you've never read DragonConfused's story "The Littlest Balrog", then go read it. It's old but one of the most unique looks at Melkor and "his boys" ever written. This might make sense without reading it, but if dark humor is your cuppa, go. Read. Dragon, I miss you! This is in tribute to that story. It's dark humor, so be warned.

He had wanted one forever. But Melkor had refused after the debacle with Maedhros, and so Gothmog had to content himself with imagining a pet.

There wasn't much to choose from in Angband. Dragons weren't fun. They hoarded their toys and confused everyone with word games. Orcs were fun and usually willing to do whatever he wanted, but never lived long.

They were tasty.

These days his brothers were more interested in seeing who could crack a whip loudest or send the stalactites crashing down to kill as many thralls as possible. Gothmog missed the egg frying contests they had held as younglings. He bet he could fry up an entire flock of chickens now!

It was great fun to go out and stomp elves. They reminded him of lightning bugs, all bright and glowy as they ran around screaming. But Melkor hated them and had forbade Gothmog to keep even a small one as a pet. He'd been told, _Thralls are not pets. You cannot take them out and play with them, Gomig. Leave Melkor's thralls alone!_

As if Maedhros' escape was his fault.

Puffing a cloud of smoke, Gothmog stomped off to find his weapons. Let the others have their stupid whips. He wanted something different. Something better than a sword (hadn't done Fingon much good, had it) and had gotten an idea from that last battle. Down to the cavern where he and his brothers wrestled, past the thralls, to his room.

Chuckling darkly as he imagined what he could do, Gothmog turned the spear in his hands. It had potential! He could spear an entire platoon and then fling them back at their own forces!   Pretending to be surrounded, Gothmog crouched and bared his fangs, roaring. He thrust the spear and spun, leaping around the room.

"GOTHMOG!"

Startled, the balrog stumbled and barely kept from impaling himself. He quickly shoved the spear behind him and turned his best beastly scowl to Melkor.

"You're going to kill yourself with that thing, Gomig." Melkor shook his head in exasperation. "Put it away and join your brothers." The dark lord's smile was awful and gave the balrog delightful shivers. "We've found Gondolin. We attack tonight."

A roar of glee and Gothmog ran to join his brothers, shoving past the dragons and carelessly crushing a company of orcs. The spear was tossed aside, forgotten.

At last, Gondolin would fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you know Gothmog's deeds and how he died. Thank you for reading!


	3. Transportation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One hundred words exactly! Hey, who knew I could do that? ;) Vingilot is Eärendil's ship, and for those of you unfamiliar with The Silmarillion, the vial of light Galadriel gave Frodo? That was the light of Eärendil. He sails Vingilótë, his ship, with one of the Silmarils bound to his brow, to keep watch over Morgoth who is trapped in the Void. The elves, upon seeing him in the sky, named him Gil-estel, "Star of hope". He is Elrond's father and one of my favorite characters.

__

Vingilótë is hallowed, glowing in the light of the moon. She is more beautiful now than any ship.

I am loath to set foot aboard her. This burden weighs heavy on my shoulders, bright upon my brow. Have I chosen rightly?

I left my wife and infant sons to gain help from Valinor.

I gave my mortality to remain with my wife.

I leave my life now, all that I have known, to take up vigil.

Gil-estel. It is a heavy thing, this hope.

"Cast off the anchor ropes! Raise the sails!" Vingilótë floats and we sail into the sky.

 


	4. Plants

It was tenacious, roots buried deep in the dark soil, probably coiled around the other plants like a nasty snake! Tugging with all her strength, Elanor squeaked in surprise when the weed suddenly gave up the fight and let go. She landed on her behind with a grunt.

"You all right, sweet-pea?" Sam helped his daughter stand and smiled. "That one was strong!"

Shoving golden curls back with a grimy hand, the little girl nodded. "Da, why aren't all plants pretty or good to eat? Why are some weeds?"

"Weeds are what we don't want growin' here." Kneeling, he pointed to a cluster of plants. "What's that one?"

"Kingsfoil. Gramps says it's a fool's plant and no good."

"Ah, well. Some plants look like weeds, all grubby and like you can't trust 'em to be a decent plant." Sam plucked a leaf and brought it to his nose. The scent was strong. That was what made his eyes water a bit. Nothin' else. Putting an arm around his daughter, his sunny-haired girl, Sam kissed her forehead. "Sometimes you gotta let 'em grow a bit, see what's really there. Might surprise you."

Elanor wrinkled her nose. "A good surprise?"

"The best."


	5. Threats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the encouragement! This is more fun than I expected. Thanks to EverleighBain for ...so much. But mostly for making me braver. :)

"Which is worse, a threat or the actual attack?"

Boromir scoffed. "The attack, of course."

The tutor looked to the younger brother. Quiet, more given to introspection, Faramir often took the longer view of things.

"Threat," Faramir answered softly. "For threats give rise to fear, which can run rampant like fire in a wind storm." The boy shook his head. "There is little time to think when attacked directly. A wise enemy spreads dissent and divides the strength of a foe before ever making a single move." Ducking his head, Faramir shrugged a shoulder. "Or so it seems to me."

A smile of approval and the tutor turned to Boromir. "Do you wish to counter Faramir's statement?"

Taking a long moment, Boromir considered his brother's words before speaking. "To strike fear in an enemy's heart before exchanging a single blow, that is a powerful thing," he said, and met his brother's uncertain gaze. "I see that sometimes a silent threat, an asset overlooked by most, is also a great advantage."

Faramir flushed. "I am no threat, brother."

"Because you are loyal and your heart is true." Boromir squeezed his brother's shoulder. "I am glad you are on my side, Faramir!"


	6. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful reviews! Right to the limit at 500 words. Phew.

  


"Fine! Come back!" Annoyed, Elladan was done lecturing his fool brother, balanced on the rope.

Elrohir grinned and stuck out his tongue.

The wind gusted and pushed.

He fell, Elladan's scream echoing in his ears, and hit the end of the safety rope with a grunt. Elrohir dangled above Ulmo's Beard, the Bruinen frothing white against the rocks below, spinning above the water. The rope was slippery against his aching hands, slippery against his frantic grabs.

Elladan was running, fast along the path, for the house. As he spun around, Elrohir suddenly felt giddy. He spread his arms wide and closed his eyes, laughing as the brume from the falls caressed his face. He was flying!

Giddiness turned to terror as the wind reversed and tossed him up like a leaf, swirling, twirling and suddenly spinning was not fun. The rope slid down his waist, down his thighs, chafing across wet fabric, gaining no traction.

"ELROHIR!"

The bellow carried over the wind, the full-throated roar of the falls that shimmered in the misty air, and the crashing cacophony of water hitting rocks.

He would hit those same rocks. A wail that was not the wind rose from the child at the end of the umbilical rope, tangled on the ankle of a boot.

The rope bounced and Elrohir saw there was a figure on top of the rope stretched taut across the falls. Was Elladan crazy enough to -

"Elrohir, hold as still as you can!"

He almost cried. Of course. Adar was going to kill them all.

If they survived.

Wind gusted against him again, pushing him, spinning, tenuous hold of rope slipping, sliding.

The water was closer. Could he angle to not hit the family of rocks that crouched amidst the water crashing against them at the bottom of the falls? He had nothing to lose by trying. Naneth had taught them how to dive, clean and straight, even from a height, but she had forbidden them from -

The rope slipped. Another shift of wind, gusting the water against him.

His boot tumbled past, end over end. It hit the rocks and was swallowed by the frothing boil of water. Elrohir stared for a moment before realizing he had been caught and held by his ankle. He was dangling. Dangling high above Ulmo's Beard, held by an unyielding grasp. Fingers dug hard against the bone.

Had he ever welcomed pain so happily before?

It was slow progress, inching back along that rope, until familiar hands grabbed him, pulled him close, too close, too tight and he was crying into the strong shoulder of his father, held by the arms of his mother and brother.

"If you ever do such a bone-headed thing again, child..." Glorfindel was pale, even his lips bloodless as he knelt to meet Elrohir's gaze.

"I won't." The water pushed a small boot along. It bobbed for a moment on the surface before disappearing into the boiling whirlpool between boulders. "I swear, I won't!"


	7. Wind

  


"There it is!" Galadriel pointed to the glittering path rising before them.

Wind filled the sails and Bilbo leaned so far forward Frodo grabbed his coat to keep him from tipping over the side of the ship. "You cannot out-race the wind, Bilbo," he laughed.

"Ah, Frodo-lad," Bilbo closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sea breeze, smiling. "We are off on an adventure where none of our kind has ever been!"

Home was long behind, and Frodo felt a twinge of sadness. He could only nod as the wind kissed his cheek and stole the tears away.


	8. Fellow Sufferer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going in order is all well and fine but my brain doesn't like to play that way. ;) Jumped waaay down to finish this one.
> 
> Dedicated to all the vets and their families, and to those who, even now, have lives ruined by war.

  


* * *

I see him every mornin' when we go to the market. Ma, she says he's worthless, just sittin' and scribblin' all day. She sniffs and walks past, but I like to hang behind and wait until Ma is hagglin' over the fish afore I go and see what he's done today. He told me he was once a proud man. A soldier! Fought in the Great War, he did. Right out there, below the city. Said all o' his mates are dead, buried out there. Don't seem right to me. I know the mounds are there. Ma takes all us littles down every year to stand afore the mounds while the king tells us all never to forget.

Hard to forget when there are folk like the scribbler here. He lost a leg in the war. Lost it and got lost, he told me. Said a man with only one leg ain't no good.

I gotta wonder about that though. See, he draws the most amazin' things. Now maybe you're thinkin' what's a cripple gonna draw, but you'd be wrong. Dead wrong! He saw the sea once, the real sea. Not just this river we got. Said it stretched out as far as he could see and he reckoned a bit more beyond that!

I wanna see that someday.

Ma says a man needs more than just a useless hobby. He needs... Well, I don't recall the word. But she don't care much for scribbler.

I like him. He talks about things I wanna do someday. An' he draws them.

I sneak scribbler food. Ma don't know and I reckon what she don't know won't hurt her. I hide it in my pocket and then every mornin' set it there next to him while he draws. I asked him once to tell me. About the war, I mean, but scribbler, he shook his head and tol' me to get on back to Ma.

See, I reckon it ain't right for a soldier like scribbler to be sleepin' out on the streets where the rats can get to him. Without him and his mates fightin' ...well, we might all be out on the streets ourselves, right?

But no one listens to me. Maybe that's why I like scribbler. He an' me, we ain't so different. The war took my da, and the war took his leg.

Ain't nothin' fair about war.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! Love to hear from you :)_


	9. On the Brink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying something new (for me). I'm going to see if I can keep a story going through prompts this week. I ran out of time to write a Halloween story, so we'll see if it works this way.

* * *

"They bring ill tidings."

"My Lord?" I was young yet, untried, proud to have been chosen to guard the Orfalch Echor. I was part of the Dark Guard, those who held the First Gate. He was my captain, and Warden of the Great Gate of Steel, the last of the gates that guarded the hidden way to Gondolin. None entered Gondolin but at Ecthelion's command.

Fair of face but grim that night, as if expecting some great evil to befall us, Ecthelion looked up to the Echoriath, the ring of towering mountains that encircled our city. "The winds, Elemmakil. Do you hear them?"

How could I not? It was a bitter night and the winds howled through the mountains, bringing snow and ice and a cold that sank jaws into my bones. "Aye, milord."

He stood in but a light cloak, as if the bitter cold barely touched him. Silver gaze distant, Ecthelion grimaced as the wind shrieked through the gate and set it rattling as if hands were trying to batter it down. "They died on the Helcaraxë, swallowed alive before anyone could do ought to save them." The Aman-bright gaze, touched by the light of the Two Trees, fell on me and I shivered. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the battering on the gate and the howling wind. "Do not open the gate, Elemmakil. Never on a full moon when the dead walk the dark way."

I was young then and some would say foolish, but there was something in his eyes that told me he was not fooling. It was not in Ecthelion's nature to tease his men like some of the older elves were wont. "I...I will not, sir."

Ithil is again full tonight.

The Black Gate will stay closed.


	10. Falling

* * *

"There's a sight that I never weary of."

I smile and nod, happy to see the walls of our white city looming above us as we ride. Ahead, I see Ecthelion suddenly jerk in his saddle as if something struck him and I tell my companions to continue on without me. As soon as they are well past, I ride up next to him where he has stopped and is staring. Eyes wide, he is paler than normal and I shift in my saddle, hoping to gain his attention. "Captain?"

Ecthelion shakes his head. "Do you see it or is it some trick of the light?"

He has been odd ever since returning from the Nirnaeth. We were all changed, all touched, but Ecthelion... He came back fearsome and fey, and his gaze is hard to hold; it seems to penetrate the very depth of a soul. "What do you see, milord?"

Covering his eyes, Ecthelion shakes his head. "Elemmakil, truly you see nothing?"

Because he is my captain, one I would follow and one I have followed to the pit of anguish and back, I look again. I jump when he grips my shoulder.

Sorrow. I have seen such sorrow before. So many died in the Nirnaeth and we... We had to tell their families. Ecthelion would not post the lists on a wall as some did but insisted on going to each and every household. He looks now as he did then. Gaunt and grey, silver eyes haunted by the specter of horror. "Captain, what do you see?" Curse my curiosity, but I must know. If his mind is breaking... No. No!

He shakes his head again and meets my gaze. "Memory. You were but a child when we threw him from the walls." A grimace and Ecthelion rubs his eyes. "I hear his voice cursing his son, cursing us all as he falls. As he hits the rocks."

I am not sorry I have no memory of this. "Ecthelion." I lean over and grip his shoulder. It is presumptuous, but I can't stand to see him this way. "Let us go into the city. You need to rest, milord."

A wry smile quirks his mouth. "I'm not crazy, Elemmakil."

I don't answer hastily - that would only make him think I'm trying to placate him. Looking him in the eye, I answer, "No, sir. You're not. But you are tired."

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

It is an odd question. Men believe in ghosts of their dead who come back to haunt them. "If you mean the houseless, then yes."

"I doubt Eöl would go to Mandos." He nudges his horse and I fall in beside him, riding toward the city. "Perhaps that is what troubles Maeglin."

It gives me a shiver to even think about. What father would chose to be houseless so that he could plague his son? I don't answer, but his words...

His words linger with me into the dark depths of night.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just to be clear, the houseless are those elves who die a physical death of the body, and refuse the call of Mandos. Their spirits would remain in Middle-earth, "houseless" of their bodies, and would seek to reconnect with living beings. Michael Martinez has an interesting article about it called "Did the Elves Fear Death at All?" I only mention it because some people don't know what a houseless spirit is and I've had other writers tell me there are no elvish ghosts. To me the houseless spirit of an elf qualifies, but if it bugs you, feel free to disagree.
> 
> Peace,  
> levade


	11. Gems and Jewels

* * *

  
  
"What is going on?"  
  
A large crowd has gathered in the King's Square, around the enormous fountain. To my astonishment some of the men and boys are stripping off their tunics and shirts. "The prince is going to throw diamonds in the fountain!" Canyamorco, a young man from the House of the Fountain is hastily pulling off his shirt, ready to jump into the water.  
  
"Canya!" I grab his arm and pull him to face me. "That fountain is deep! The water comes directly from the springs. It's very cold!"  
  
"I don't care." He pulls free and laughs. "The head of our house wears diamonds on his armor. Why shouldn't I?"  
  
It's foolishness and I shake my head as Maeglin steps up on a platform that was not on the side of the fountain this morning. I wonder if the king realizes what his grandson is doing?  
  
"Relax, Elemmakil."  
  
"Milord!" I hadn't heard Ecthelion arrive, but he stands next to me near the fountain's edge. "Did you know about this?"  
  
Slanting a look at me, a wry smile on his face, he shakes his head. "Only when Maeglin requested a platform this morning." Arms crossed, he watches the young men and boys balance on the edge of the fountain. They're waiting for the prince to throw the gems in the fountain. "We had to clear the edges of ice after we turned the fountains off."  
  
"This is a bad idea." Maybe it's having spent so much time in my captain's presence, but I have a horrible feeling about this. "Cannot you stop them, milord?" It is cold, the breath of those waiting to jump steaming in the evening air.  
  
Maeglin smiles and holds up his hands. The crowd roars in approval when he reaches down to pick up two large, bulging sacks. "Ready?" Maeglin laughs and throws the diamonds up. They catch the light, scattering prisms around the fountain before showering down like falling stars. There is a mad rush as the men and boys leap into the fountain to catch the diamonds before the gems sink too deep.  
  
Ecthelion takes a step closer and for a moment I have a sudden image of him tipping over, crashing into the pool and sinking deep into the fountain.  
  
"We'd best get some blankets and move the braziers closer." Shaking his head in amusement, Ecthelion turns from the fountain but stops as his gaze falls on my face. "Elemmakil, are you all right?"  
  
I shake my head and the watery image clears. "I am fine, milord. I'll see the braziers are lit." I rush away, trying to banish the sudden cold that grips me, but even the warm fires of the braziers do little to steal away my shivers. My imagination is running wild, that is all. What use would Ecthelion have of gems? His shield is covered in them! But when I search for him later, he is staring into the fountain. I do not think he is looking for diamonds.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In case you haven't read The Silmarillion, Ecthelion did drown in the fall of Gondolin, after impaling Gothmog with the spike on his helmet. Ecthelion grabbed the balrog and they fell into the fountain and sank to the very, very deep bottom. I might have to write something very cheerful after all this!


	12. My Weapon's Name

* * *

The House of the Fountain is often ablaze with light and music, a place for those from the other Houses to join in if they so wish. Many of our folk have Telerin and Sindarin kin, and music is something we all love. It is not unusual for Ecthelion to join us in the singing and dancing. He was trained as a bard in Alqualondë and has a beautiful singing voice, but tonight I glance into his study and see that he is sitting at a table, sharpening a sword.

"My lord?" I hesitate, unsure if he wants company.

"Come in, Elemmakil." The sound of the whetstone on a blade is something any soldier knows, but we don't go out to the gates again for several moons, and I frown.

"The king is not sending you on another trip, is he?" I had heard all about the disastrous trip with Lady Aredhel and how her escorts, including Ecthelion, had to return to the city without her. My father had said the king had been very unhappy with them.

"No." The slight smile eases my worry and I sit.

Ecthelion sets the whetstone aside and wipes the blade down. Picking up the sword, he holds it up before him and gazes at the runes that catch the firelight.

Orcrist sent many orcs fleeing in terror in the Nirnaeth. I had heard them yelling when Ecthelion was fighting and knew they called the sword biter for it had cleaved mighty numbers of their kind. He stares so long that I shift and ask, "Is everything all right?"

Ecthelion moves, his breath fogging the blade. I cannot help but stare, for I swear to Ilúvatar that for a moment there was figure that was not a reflection in that blade. Stout, dressed in fine furs, the figure is holding a sword that can only be Orcrist, but the image is all wrong. Elves do not grow beards, and the blade appears larger than it is in Ecthelion's hands. Much too large.

Then Ecthelion lowers the blade and sheaths it. I look up to find his gaze upon me, and I blink, trying to gather my wits. "Come sing for us, milord."

An easy smile and he sets Orcrist aside. It is, for the moment, nothing but a sword. "Very well, Elemmakil."

But I am uneasy around the sword now. It is of Maeglin's crafting, and he has often bragged of his father's prowess in sword making. One blade, Anglachel, is said to have been imbued with Eöl's malice. Some of the Sindar swear it is even sentient.

I cannot help wonder if Maeglin did something similar with Orcrist. But it was a gift to the king! It was Turgon who gave it to Ecthelion, for his service to the city. Many such gifts were given to the lords of the Houses.

Perhaps Ecthelion will someday gift it to someone. But why would the blade show this person to me? And who is he?

* * *

A/N:

_Canon doesn't state that Orcrist was Ecthelion's. Only that it was given to Turgon, as was Glamdring, by Maeglin who crafted both swords. It eventually ended up being found by the Dwarves in The Hobbit, Ages later. The last we see of Orcrist, it is atop Thorin's tomb, under Erebor. Anglachel is a fascinating sword and that sad tale is told in The Silmarillion._


	13. Finally

_"For the Quest is achieved, and now all is over. I am glad that you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Sam."_

-J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Return of the King_

* * *

How long we fought, I cannot say. How many battles, I know not. I only know that in the very end, when Melkor at last, forever and for all time was thrown down and his dark light extinguished from this world, we raised bloody swords and gave ragged cheers. I would have cried if I was able, but all I could do was push myself to wander and see if any of my friends had survived.

This was the end of all things, the end of all time. I knew not what came next and wanted to my friends with me.

"You live!" I found Ecthelion, standing at the edge of a crater where Melkor had been destroyed, watching the three mighty victors, Túrin Turambar, Eönwë and Tulkas.

He turned and smiled, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Elemmakil! I lost track of you in the chaos. It is good to see you, my friend!"

Glorfindel was there as well, and we found as many of our loved ones as we could.

"This is the unmaking of Arda, then?"

"Don't be afraid." Glorfindel's voice was quiet above the sobbing and weeping around us. "Many of us have crossed from death and back again. It holds no terrors."

But I feared, for I had survived all things. Gondolin, the kin-slaying at Arvernion, the sinking of Beleriand, The War of Wrath. Battle was no stranger, but death...

Ecthelion looked upwards to where the stars were scattered across the black sky like rivers of diamonds. Melkor had destroyed the sun and moon and the world was as it had been when our people awakened; in starlight. Throwing aside his sword, Ecthelion knelt. "Though this be my end, I will not meet it with defiance and fearful words, or swords raised in anger."

He began to sing a very old song, far older than even Gondolin, and I dropped my sword, fell to my knees next to him and joined in song. He was my captain, though surely I was far beyond that now. Never had he led me wrong, even in that last, awful battle in Gondolin. I would not leave him.

Not now, at the end of all things.

I heard Glorfindel join the song and then, from all around, others singing, and before long the plain was echoing with voices raised in song.

They say death is a transition, not an ending. The sloughing off of the battered, grimy form, too weak to continue, and the rising of the new, glorious body that echoes the splendor of the spirit.

Arda died. She was worn and weary, battered from our wars, and her travails.

In the blink of an eye, Arda was re-made, and the brilliance of light that filled my wonder-filled gaze was gold and silver untarnished.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! I know, this isn't quite like the others, but then what is Halloween but a transition? A time to say farewell to summer and move into fall and winter (in the Northern Hemisphere at least). To the darker days that come and hope for the return of brighter days. Tolkien never wrote much about the Dagor Dagorath but if you look up the Second Prophecy of Mandos, you'll find where I took this idea from. Thank you for all your amazing reviews! I am slowly getting back to everyone. :)


	14. I Am Still Here

" _Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything."_

C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Prompt: I Am Still Here

* * *

"Elrond." Galadriel stepped into his path, and there was not compassion in the ageless face, but weariness. "Stop. Sit with me."

He wanted no platitudes. No pity or words of understanding. Angry if someone was silent, angry if someone spoke, Elrond was dissatisfied with everything and everyone. Sitting, he sighed and looked away. "There is nothing you can say." Galadriel's presence was both barb and balm, an echo of Celebrían.

"It never gets easier."

"Should it?" Anger, oh there was a dragon hoard of anger in his voice, but he didn't care. The world was shrouded. He saw, he touched, he tasted, but it was all distant. Elrond walked in a daze.

"No."

Rage rose. He wanted to scream and shout, to kick at something and simply feel again. Anything but the overwhelming loss that had not stopped aching since she left, and nor would it he suspected. Instead tears burned at his eyes and Elrond blinked hard to hold the tide back. It crashed over his control and carried him to his feet, hands balled in anger. "I beg and plead for answers. Why? What could I have done? Why did I let ..." He choked and closed his eyes. "I am deaf and blind. I ask. I keep asking and yet all I hear is silence. The Valar have closed the door and bolted it against me." He sank to the bench and shook his head. "I have no hope."

Galadriel was silent, but stayed with him as the shadows crept across the garden.

"I have thought of giving Vilya to another. Of sailing." Now she turned to him and Elrond met her gaze. She had lost much in her life; home, brothers, and now a daughter. But she was not alone. "You have Celeborn."

"You have your children." Galadriel looked away, and a tear glistened down her cheek. "I cannot leave Middle-earth, Elrond. The West is truly barred against me."

His parents a hazy memory, Elros, forever separated from him. Elrond stood. The thought of never again seeing Celebrían was unbearable. The burden of Vilya was his, willingly accepted. He had not realized what it would mean to be a keeper of a ring of power, what it would cost. Now he understood. "I cannot yet sail. " Galadriel met his gaze and the sorrow that dulled her eyes was terrible to see. Healer above all else, Elrond could not stand to see suffering. "Arwen will likely return with you to Lothlórien. She-" He had to stop and let the pain that choked him ease before speaking. "There are too many memories here."

"You are welcome as well."

They stood in Celebrían's garden, bare and hushed in winter. In spring it would bloom and birds would sing in the trees.

Celebrían's scent lingered like a song in air. A constant reminder, a melody unsung. "I will remain." He had his duty.

But someday...

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Tolkien says this in his Letter #320: "Galadriel was a penitent: in her youth a leader in the rebellion against the Valar (the angelic guardians). At the end of the First Age she proudly refused forgiveness or permission to return. She was pardoned because of her resistance to the final and overwhelming temptation to take the Ring for herself." And so we get the unforgettable scene in the film of her temptation and refusal - it's in the books too but not quite so...flashy.
> 
> He revised that (of course), but I like that so I went with it.
> 
> Sorry for the sad. December can be a sad season for me, and C.S. Lewis understood it so well. Forgive me, please, for not replying to each comment. You deserve a reply and I'm just really bad at it, but I appreciate every single one of you. Thank you.


	15. Prompt:  Stealing

" _...and slowly the ship slipped away down the long grey firth; and the light of the glass of Galadriel that Frodo bore glimmered and was lost._ "

― _The Return of the King_ , The Grey Havens

Prompt: Stealing

* * *

"Ah, so you're the thief."

From the startled look on her face, it was clear this was not what Galadriel had expected to hear. "My lord?"

Blue eyes twinkling, Eärendil nodded. "Thought I wouldn't notice, hm?"

Elrond coughed and looked away, lips pressed together to keep from laughing. It wasn't every day Galadriel found herself at an impasse.

The Mariner arched an eyebrow. "Imagine my surprise when one of the Hobbits tried to give me a phial of my own light."

"That light saved his life."

"Yes, I did know." He smiled. "Which is why I bade him keep it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the first time I read that Galadriel gave Frodo a phial of the light of Eärendil, I wondered...what did the Mariner think of that? Frodo called upon Eärendil as well ( "Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!"; this translates as "Hail Eärendil, brightest of stars!") and so I just had to do something with it.  
> Thanks for reading!


	16. Tradition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Lord Illyren, I really could see Frodo offering it back as well. His humility is beautiful, as is his generosity. I have to agree with Gandalf that Hobbits really are amazing creatures.
> 
> I always loved the part in the movies where they enter the great hall of Moria, and we see row upon row of columns. The music is gorgeous, and well...this is where it took me.

 

* * *

 

It was as if the very land itself wrapped around him in a hug, welcoming him back to its spacious caverns and secret layers upon layers of rock.

So very, very deep. Gimli drew in a full breath, and sighed in contentment. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being outdoors, but it was so very _open_. Here, he could feel the good rock beneath his feet, hear the song of the water as it wound through a cleft, telling of what treasures the hidden depths held. The mountain welcomed him, lending strength to his bones as if recalling from where his people came. It sang to him, and begged for him to discover what wonders awaited.

In his mind's eye he could see what the caverns would look like once his people had finished bringing out the hidden beauty of the stone and gems. They would polish and coax fire with facets and let the rocks sing as they longed to. Only small changes were needed in the main caverns. A tiny tap of a hammer here. The slightest adjustment of depth there. There was so much perfection already. It would be desecration to ruin that.

Aglarond would not be like Khazad-dûm. There they had pushed too far, and greed had overtaken sense. Oh, the stone pillars rising to the roof like graceful arms worshipping had been breath-taking, rows upon rows of perfect beauty that had brought tears to his eyes. But not here. The world had changed, and Dwarves must change with it.

Though not overly much. Gimli snorted and could almost hear what the elf would say where he there. Ah, but Legolas had been changed by their travels as well, and was leading a group of his people to Ithilien. He too was leaving behind traditions to forge his own way in a new land.

A new Age. A new home. New traditions would meld with the old here in the Glittering Caves. They would build such wonders as the world had never seen! There were good, strong bones of ore to mine and Gimli's fingers itched to begin a design for Minas Tirith's gates. _Mithril_ and steel, beauty and resilience that would tell all of the city's rulers. They would last for the lifetime of many men! He laughed and lifted his face as his laughter echoed through the grotto. Home.

It was a good start.


	17. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to post this here. Oops!  
> This is a bit of a continuation from my story, Nor Bid the Stars Farewell, but you don't have to have read that to understand it. For EverleighBain - who reminds me frequently of the good things and listens to my grumblings.
> 
> Happy New Year, to anyone reading. May your days grow brighter!

* * *

He was just dusting the letter with a light coating of sand when he caught the faintest scuff of a boot on wood. Continuing as if he hadn't heard, Glorfindel shook the parchment and blew the last of the sand from it before setting it down to re-read. Doubtless Bronwë would be entertained by hearing about the latest adventures of Elrond's family.

They still weren't sure what to do with the Mearas colt.

Another scuff of a boot and Glorfindel dropped letter to whirl and grab the miscreant attempting to sneak up on him. "Ha!"

A squeak of surprise and Elrohir grinned. "Someday I shall surprise you!"

"I have no doubt of that, youngling." Though if it was only being tackled that would be a relief. "Where is your brother?"

Elrohir wrinkled his nose and wriggled free to lean against the table. He traced the edge of the parchment with one finger. One grubby finger that stuck to the parchment. Bronwë would likely find small elf fingerprints amusing, but Glorfindel caught the boy's hand before he could smear the still-drying ink.

"You said we could go see the Dwarves."

Glorfindel pretended to think. "Did I?"

"Gofi!" Grabbing the arm of the Eldar, Elrohir leaned in and gave his most sincere look. The one that always worked on Nana but only made Adar laugh. "My greatest aspria...apsir..." With a huff, he thumped his free hand on Glorfindel's arm. "I _really_ want to see Dwarves!"

"Aspiration. And you hope to achieve this by beating upon me?"

"When can we go?"

Sweet stars. Glorfindel bit back a sigh and stared at the boy who was plucking at the seams of his sleeve. Ivy had nothing on this child's tenacity! "Have you asked Haldir?"

A snort. "He said he'd rather be hung upside down from the top of a mallorn, but why would he rather do that?"

"What of your father?"

"Said to ask you." The grey eyes so like his sire's were full of sincerity. "We're so close to Moria and I won't have this chance back home and Daernaneth said you're not afraid of caverns no matter how horribly deep they go or how preca...precrious the bridges are, and so you should be the one to take me." He quickly added, "Adi wants to go too."

"Precarious." A sigh and Glorfindel stood. "Of course he does." Looking down at the hopeful child, there was no reason to deny him. Besides, he'd just keep asking. "I'll speak with your grandparents and see what we can arrange."

"Really?"

"Child." Glorfindel knelt. "Haven't I always kept my promises?"

Elrohir was solemn. "Yes."

A smile and Glorfindel stood. "Run along and tell your brother. Be sure you remind your grandmother than you _really_ want her to go too."

"I will!" With a whoop Elrohir raced off, yelling for Elladan.

Turning back to his letter Glorfindel sighed. Moria. Wonderful. He'd better add a postscript so that Bronwë would know where to find him should he never return.


	18. Any One of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after the attack on Arvernion by the Sons of Fëanor. Círdan and Ereinion Gil-galad rescued the survivors and brought them back to the Isle of Balar, near the end of the First Age.

  


* * *

Part of me hates them, these cousins of mine who have left an entire town burning, killed elves and left so many little ones screaming in terror.

We were unable to find Eärendil's children. Elwing threw herself from a cliff, the Silmaril clutched in her hands. Some claim she changed into a bird and flew away.

My family did this. Blood. Kin. People my father loved dearly.

I don't know what to think. I am numb. The blood of so many people stains my hands. Was it any clearer for my father? Was it easy for him to search out and rescue Maedhros? Even after being betrayed and left to cross the grinding ice?

I doubt it. He had as many doubts as I, or so I like to think.

I wish he had not died. I wish, oh, every day I wish, that this had not come to me.

But it did. Círdan would not be sympathetic to such thoughts. Life is as it is, and we take what comes and do our best.

I cannot help but wonder. What if Fingon had not rescued Maedhros. What if. Would I be holding this child, who is covered in the blood of his mother who died protecting him? Would we be in this situation at all?

"Shhh..." I cuddle the child closer, and pray with all that is in me that I can do what is right for these people.

For all my people.

And I pray for my cousins.

Because when all is said and done?

It could be any one of us who is in this situation, driven by forces we can only imagine we understand.

No. I will not hate. I will defend and build a strong kingdom where all are welcome so long as they abide with others in peace. We do not have to agree on all things.

But we must learn to cooperate or we will not survive to another Age.

Ilúvatar, help me, for this all seems too large for one person to do.

"Here, lad." Círdan pulls a heavy cloak around my shoulders and tucks it around the child. "Don't look so glum. We'll find a way through this." He touches my face and for a moment his eyes soften. "Hold your course, Ereinion. Stand steady."

He is gone, moving off to see to others before I can say a word.

I am young for this burden, but it matters not. I am not alone. Círdan has told me time and again that I am where I belong, and here for this time and purpose. I don't understand, but Círdan sees further than anyone else I know. He has never given me a reason not to trust him.

Maybe my father was wise after all. He learned to forgive those who had betrayed him. To move on. I hope someday I can ask him all the questions I have.

He was called valiant.

Only time will show what history accounts of me.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know that later versions show Orodreth as Gil-galad's father, but I like the version that claims Fingon is because to me, it complicates things. Living up to a hero like Fingon the Valiant would not be easy, but I think Gil-galad did.


	19. What Happens Now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."
> 
> ~G. K. Chesterton

  


* * *

What we carry is little, but it weighs upon our shoulders, making our steps heavy. It is memory that both quiets our complaints and strengthens our resolve. Memory of those we left behind. Our homes. Our land.

We are bereft, stripped bare and shivering.

But we live. And while we live we carry the memory of those lost. Already the minstrels sing of Glorfindel the Golden and his battle with the demon.

My tongue is ash. I cannot yet speak of what lies behind, cannot bear to hear his name, though those who survived of our House use it as a battle cry. At night I dream I am sinking down, deeper, deeper. Falling though water as if sinking in air. I awake gasping, heart pounding, and wonder...

Why? Was I not brave enough? Did I not fight hard enough?

I could not save him, my captain. No one could, not once he had set his mind to what must be done.

"Elemmakil."

I snap to with a start and stare at the man before me. He does not touch me, and is careful to keep a distance. We soldiers are too quick to draw a bow or sword these days. Too on-edge. "Lord Tuor." Dark circles bruise the skin under his eyes, blue eyes that echo the weariness we all feel. He is mortal, but in our loss we are so very alike.

"I cannot thank your captain." The words seem to choke him and for a moment he struggles, swallowing hard. "He saved my life."

My mind is numb. I nod, for what could I say?

"He was my friend."

The words bring my gaze up to meet Tuor's and I see in his eyes the misery that haunts mine. He knew not the long hours at the last gate spent in dark watches, cold and wary, when Ecthelion would sing softly to pass the time. He had not survived the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, or come back to a city that was too empty with the loss of so many.

But Tuor had come to us with a warning and brought hope to our people. My captain had seen something in this mortal man that he admired. So much that he sacrificed himself to ensure that Tuor lived.

"He was our captain and lord." He was to me like a brother. My confidante and counselor. I had followed him through dragon fire to death's door. We are without a House, without a King. Wandering the wilderness like the dispossessed. I am captain now, but I never desired this weight. I can only move forward in life or surrender to fading.

I meet his gaze again, seeking what my captain discerned in this man. Yes, mortal, but I see the same honor, compassion and bravery that shone through Ecthelion. How better to honor my captain than to serve the one he saved?

I bow my head. "How may the House of the Fountain serve you, my lord?"


	20. Documentation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be chapter 13, so it's out of order.

"Are you certain you have it exactly as they spoke?"

"My lord." How could I forget? I stood in awe watching a mere mortal suddenly appear as one of the Powers. "I am positive."

"Ecthelion bowed to him?"

The doubt is understandable, the head of my house is proud, one of the mighty lords of Gondolin. "Would you not bow to Ulmo if he suddenly appeared and spoke to you?"

"Yes, yes, but this was a mortal man!" Pengolodh scowls and taps his quill against his teeth. I see now why ink stains his lips.

I lean forward and tap his document. "'Lord of the Fountains, hinder not the messenger of the Lord of the Waters!'* Word for word. I shall never forget it, my lord! His voice and manner changed, as if Lord Ulmo spoke through him."

"And Ecthelion bowed."

This is how it is with Pengolodh. He is one of the Lambengolmor, the Loremasters of Tongues, which means his manner is exacting and acerbic. "Do you wish me to go ask Lord Ecthelion to come and recite for you himself?" It was pure sarcasm. I should have known better.

"Yes. Do so now, Elemmakil."

I bow and leave, going back to the House of the Fountains. Ecthelion is in his study, where I expect to find him, staring out a window. The view is spectacular, snow white mountains and stars gleaming in the dark, but I do not think he even sees it. "My lord."

"Hmm?" He turns and he looks as a man surfacing from deep, deep waters. "Oh, Elemmakil."

"Lord Pengolodh is requesting your presence, sir."

His mouth quirks in a wry smile. "Not entirely unexpected." Ecthelion turns and sighs. "I am not ready to speak of it yet." He walks to a chair and sits, leaning his forearms upon his thighs. "Long has it been since I have seen any of the Valar."

Born in Middle-earth, I can only imagine what it is to live in the same land with the Powers. "I saw it as well, milord, and yet..." I shrug as he meets my gaze. "Tuor is merely a mortal man."

"Mortal, yes." Sitting back, Ecthelion taps his fingers upon the chair arm. "But there is nothing simple about him."

The lords of the Houses met with the king for most of the day, and though I know not what was decided yet, I know Ecthelion will inform us when he is able. "Do you wish me to tell Lord Pengolodh that you are delayed and cannot speak with him this evening?"

Ecthelion stands. "I know what he is like when he is intent upon documenting every detail. I'll speak with him." He turns in the doorway. "Go enjoy your evening, Elemmakil." A shadow is upon his face but his Aman-bright eyes are like flames in the darkness. "It will all change now."

Odd words, but I go to find my friends. We shall drink to the might of change marching into Gondolin!

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quoted from 'Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin', The Silmarillion. I love Tuor and this was always one of my favorite parts of the story - mortal man marches into a hidden city and sets all the Noldor on their immortal, pointy ears! ;) Then he up and marries the king's daughter! Yep. I love Tuor.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	21. Threads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went way over the word count but I have no regrets. They wanted to speak and I didn't have the heart to stop them.

  


* * *

"May I join you?"

Elladan barely nodded his head, gaze locked on something only he could see on the horizon. Seated on the warm sand, knees drawn up, his arms were looped around his legs, hands clasped. Closed off and not welcoming.

It wasn't the first time Tuor had been met with opposition. "Adjusting to life here can be difficult." He shook his head as the wind caught grey-blond strands of hair and drew in a deep breath of sea air. "Not only because of those who have never lived anywhere but Aman and can't imagine why anyone would want to, but having those same people regard you like some sample of a unique life form, to be examined and studied. Discussed."

He didn't push when no answer came. Long years had given him insight into his wife's people and he knew some thoughts just took time to play out. And truthfully, he just wasn't used to this. Family had never played a huge part in his life. Not since Gondolin.

Funny how, despite that, his family had become common household names. Everyone knew his story, some version of it, and seemed to think that gave them a right to comment on it.

"You got to live."

He turned his head and was pleasantly surprised to find his companion had turned that gaze upon him. It was an ageless face of course, graced with the beauty of the Eldar, but there was something fierce and untamed in the grey eyes. Pain, he belatedly realized. And anger. "To my great surprise, yes."

A frown and the tone became bitter. "And yet my sister was granted no such boon."

Tuor recognized the signs of a squall brewing and wisely said nothing. What could he say? That the Valar had allowed Idril and himself passage was beyond expectation. He had fully expected to die like any mortal man. Had made peace with that...

Ah, but it had meant being parted for all time from his wife, and that. That had cut to the quick.

A sigh, and Tuor shifted to sit cross-legged. "It's hard to understand why they do the things they do." He shook his head. "My son is lauded for his heroic acts even as his wife is reviled for being a coward. Yet if Elwing had not brought the Silmaril to Eärendil..." Tuor slanted a look at his great-grandson. "You and I would not be sitting here."

"My father has no ill-will towards her."

Nor any great love, but Tuor kept his mouth shut. It was hard to argue against a child who had been abandoned not only by his parents but by his twin. "Maybe I owe you an apology." He turned to look at the young man, searching for something familiar. Some hint of the woman who slept at his side every night, and lightened his days with her smile and wit. The arch of the eyebrows? Not the hair. Elladan's hair was so brown as to be nearly black. But when he turned his head to look at Tuor, the man's breath caught. There, in the high cheekbones and the determined set of the chin. It was impossible to pin down, but for a moment he had seen something that called forth a memory of Turgon, standing on a turret, high above Gondolin.

It brought a lump to his throat and he swallowed hard.

"For what?"

So many scenarios played though his mind, familiar things that he wrestled with in all of the years he had lived in Aman. Granted the long life of the Eldar, his mind was still that of a man, and his thoughts sometimes betrayed his past. "That maybe," he began, voice hoarse, choked still by memories and regrets, "if I'd been more content, and not so restless, maybe if we'd stayed..." Tuor stopped for a moment to clear his throat. "We might have been there when they came to Avernion."

Elladan shook his head, and said without hesitation, "They would have killed you." The look was not quite pity, but not so far from it. "You would have been too old by then, and Idril would have lost you for all time."

Old. He had been getting old even when they sailed. "Idril might have talked them down. They knew her as a child."

Now there was pity in the grey eyes. "The Oath drove them, Tuor. I would like to think they wouldn't hurt their cousin, and I've heard Adar tell of the kindness he and Elros were shown by the brothers, but I know what it is to be driven to an act. I know how it feels to try and purge yourself of it, to live as others do around you, and yet the memory of the thing will not let you rest." Elladan shook his head. "They could not rest until they had the Silmarils."

"Nor could they rest once they had them." Tuor spoke softly, quietly. Any anger he felt for the Fëanorians had long ago been quenched by pity. He would not blame those, like Elwing, who even still flew into anger at what had been done to her and her family, but he felt only sadness that such brilliant lives had ended so tragically.

"And yet," Elladan faced the sea again, absently pushing back a braid as the wind tugged it across his face, "I now see my mother whole and healed, the very thing I wished for." He shook his head. "And I am still discontent."

Tuor considered for a long moment what to say. He had found it far easier to connect with the younger of the twin sons of Elrond. Not to say that Elrohir mourned the loss of their sister any less, but Elladan seemed to take it as an affront to his family. Something not to be borne. "Have you ever been in love?" He couldn't help it; his mouth crooked into a wry smile at the surprised look shot at him.

Elladan snorted. "I've yet to meet anyone who takes my breath away and keeps me staring at her as time swirls past."

A low chuckle and Tuor shook his head. "It's not always a bolt out of the blue, lad. Sometimes it's the slow realization that you don't want to live without that person in your life. That you'll do whatever it takes to stand by her side, even in the face of the overwhelming truth that you..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "That you're just not what anyone had in mind for their little girl, and you're truly not good enough."

"He was a good man." Elladan looked east again. "The best I knew."

Tuor waited, knowing by long association with elves that there was more; words, slowly filtering through strong emotion to form into what could be spoken.

"It wasn't until the end." Elladan's hands fisted and he drew in a sharp breath, holding it for a long moment. "After Aragorn died. It became real then. Arwen..." He shook his head, mouth open but eyes lost in memory. "She just...diminished. I don't know how else to say it."

Tuor nodded. How often had he seen Idril watching him, brow furrowed and eyes worried in a way that should never touch the beautiful face. All for him. His mortality. "I am sorry."

"For what?"

"Lad..." A sigh and Tuor shook his head. "Sometimes I think maybe Idril would have been better off for never having met me, but then I see Eärendil and all that he did for both Elves and Men. I see your father and you and Elrohir. Valar forgive me, but I cannot be sorry for what came of loving Idril, even if I had died a mortal man."

"What will come of Arwen and Aragorn's love though?" Elladan scowled. "Most of the Elves have sailed and men have short lives and shorter memories. In a generation or two who will remember them and what they accomplished?"

The bitterness in the voice hurt to hear. "Idril knew nothing of what was to come from loving me. Aye, she has foresight but all she saw in me was a man. Not some distant future where our son would sail the heavens and his children become mighty among both kindred." Tuor stood and met his great-grandson's gaze. "Can you truly believe nothing good will come from them, Elladan? Arwen and Aragorn were courageous, patient beyond what most are made to endure, and faithful not only to one another but to their people. How can that not affect those who come after?" Greatly daring, Tuor bent and squeezed the strong shoulder with his weathered hand, marked by life and time in a way the younger man would never face. "Including you, lad."

Grey eyes flashed as Elladan looked up and held his gaze and for a moment Tuor held his breath, waiting for the flare of temper that had bred true down this line. But Elladan only frowned and looked away. "I will think on it."

Ah, well. Better than he expected, really. He could now tell Idril with a clear conscience that he had tried. Tuor began to walk back up the beach.

"Daeradar."

For a moment he thought it was a trick of the sea and his non-elvish hearing. Damn conches of Ulmo still haunted his dreams. Tuor turned.

Elladan inclined his head in a regal way that called forth a long-lost kingdom and its ruler yet again. "Thank you."

Tuor smiled and gave a nod before heading for home, his steps lighter than before.

* * *

_If you're reading this, thank you! Tuor is actually Elladan's great-grandfather, and yes, I do choose to believe he was granted the longevity of the Eldar, and allowed to live in Aman with Idril. One of the great love stories in Tolkien's works, and one of my favorites. Happy Valentine's Day.  
_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, thank you! Tuor is actually Elladan's great-grandfather, and yes, I do choose to believe he was granted the longevity of the Eldar, and allowed to live in Aman with Idril. One of the great love stories in Tolkien's works, and one of my favorites. Happy Valentine's Day.


	22. Prompt:  A Difficult Road

* * *

 

He stared long at the newborn, too long and with such an odd expression.  It made me nervous and I couldn't help making the sign against evil. 

He noticed immediately and looked at me with those eyes, those chilling blue eyes and arched one eyebrow.  "Have you something to say, midwife?"

"My lord..."  I hesitated, then met his gaze.  "The babe is beautiful.  Perfect.  But he is born under an ill sign."

I'll give him credit.  He did not roll his eyes as he had done before.  He narrowed them.  "Explain."

"Ithil was just rising when your queen went into labor, and he was born with the light of Ithil full on his face."  I shook my head, sure of my words.  "He will not be content to remain here.  He will wander like the moon he was born under."

"Nonsense."  Thranduil cuddled his son closer and smiled at the newborn.  "He is our newest prince.  This is his home."

But not forever.  My heart was certain.  This one would never be content to remain.  I bowed my head.  "Of course, my lord."  I left him with the babe.

Let him enjoy his son while he can.

* * *

* * *

 


	23. Failed Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waaaay over one hundred. Oops?

* * *

 

"This is crazy."

"Like that's anything new."

The muttered comment is Celebrimbor, who is slowly backing away, gaze on his father who sees nothing but the contraption he's working on.   I smirk and turn back to my brother.  Curufin is crafty and sometimes dangerously inventive, but he's also a genius at new ways of killing our enemies.   In this case, he's working on a new way to deliver supplies to our followers who were cut off several days ago.  He's been working non-stop, muttering to himself with the same manic light in his eyes I remember seeing in Atar's. 

That is not comforting.  Atar was brilliant, but not always good at seeing the consequences of his experiments.  I submit the Silmarils for your examination. 

Well, no.  Not really.  If you had them I'd kill you and take them.  They are ours, after all.  Sod what the Valar say. 

"All right."  Curufin looks up, face streaked with soot and I don't know what else, and waves me away.  "Back.  Step back.  This will involve an explosion."

Explosions?  Yes!  I grin and move to stand with Celebrimbor who looks uneasy.  "Don't worry."  He looks at me, and I can see my words didn't reassure him.  "Your father knows what he's doing."

"Right."  He moves even farther away. 

"Hoist it up!"  The crate of supplies rises, hoisted by several elves.  It goes up and up, higher into the tree than I expected and I consider taking another few steps back when Curufin turns and gives me a manic smile. 

"This will be wonderful!"

_Ulmo's conches_.  Atar always said that right before a few of his lesser-known experiments.  They didn't end so well.  Ammë lost her greenhouse to one and stayed angry at him for as long as it took us to rebuild.  Curufin is holding a fuse that leads to the crate, far up in the trees and I have time to wonder where this crate is intended to go when he lights the fuse. 

We watch it burn brightly as it travels up the cord, up, up towards the crate.  "Let it go!"

The fellows holding the hithlain ropes give one another an uncertain look, let go and run as fast as they can away from this meyhem. 

The crate begins to fall, plummeting towards the ground when the fuse lights the ...  "Are those Atar's rockets?"  I back up, faster this time.  I remember what those rockets did to the trees nearest Atar's workroom.  We were picking splinters out of the horses for weeks! 

Just as the crate is about to crash to the ground I hear a roar and a flash of intense light as the rockets fire.  For a moment the crate hangs as if suspended, the bright flare of the rockets pushing it upwards.

Then the rockets sputter and the crate crashes to the ground and bursts into flames. 

In the light of the flames, I see Curufin shaking his head and making notes on a pad he carries everywhere. 

After the fires are put out, and several fellows are having splinters removed, I sit with my brother and sigh.  "Just how were we going to get that crate above our men to drop it?"

Sketching something in his pad, he shrugs.  One black braid falls over his shoulder and for just the smallest moment I almost think I see my father sitting there.  Then he looks up and I see weariness in his eyes.  "I'll figure something out.  Maybe we could use pigeons.  They're everywhere."

I rub my eyes and leave him to his muttering.  It is good to be Noldorin, but sometimes I think the crazed desire to figure out and invent might just be the end of us all.  Someday we'll figure out something so brilliant that we'll end life on Arda.  Hopefully it will involve explosions and be fast, and if it's my genius brother who comes up with it?  That will be a guarantee.  But at least life won't be boring!

 

 

* * *

 


	24. Prompt:  Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For E, who mistakenly asked for a Norway prompt, thanks to autocorrect. ;)

* * *

 

"Don't be snide, Ecthelion."

"I..."  I turned to the third person standing with us on the precipice, looking down to the long, long drop.  "Elemmakil, was I being snide?"

Ever diplomatic, he held up his hands and smiled.  "Bit sarcastic, my lord."

"But not snide."  I huffed and contemplated pushing the big, brash blond down the steep slope.  Would serve him right, dragging us back from Aman because wanderlust had gotten the best of him.

Again.

"They call that a fjord."

"I call it freezing."  I stomped my frozen feet and sighed.  "Only you would come to Norway in winter, Glorfindel."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to Norwegians. You have a absolutely gorgeous (and freezing) country! :)


	25. Prompt:  Friends Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was challenged to use the word "hops" by someone. All right. Here you go!

* * *

"What is this plant, Gimli?" I grimace. It stinks.

Gimli turns, and his eyes get that gleam that warns me. "What? Master Elf, you don't know hops when you see it? Why, I thought Elves knew every plant that grew under the sun!"

"And a few that grow underground." I arch an eyebrow. "Since when do Dwarves plant and harvest crops?" His indignant sputters make me smile and I have to hide it as he bristles and fusses with his beard.

"What you do _not_ know about Dwarves, Master Elf, would likely make up more books than Master Elrond has in that library of his! Why, we Dwarves are perfectly capable of ..."

I pay slight attention to his rant as he goes on. Oh, Gimli, you're so wonderfully predictable! What shall I do when the white hairs dusting your beard outnumber the auburn, and your eyes grow dim? When the fiery spirit within you dies to glowing embers and your bones begin to ache? It will happen. 'Tis only a matter of time.

I have _only_ time, but he... I cannot bear to think on it. "All right, Gimli. Let's go sample this beer of yours."

* * *

 


	26. Prompt:  A Simple Delight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These characters are lovingly snagged from EverleighBain's fantastic story, Valiant. GO. Read! Really, if you love Halbarad and Aragorn and Rangers? I highly recommend it. Eluned is Halbarad's daughter, Fain is her dog and Sive is Eluned's best friend. I'm calling this OT because it didn't happen in Ev's story. I did get her permission to poach. For Rebeccasaurus, who requested a dog and no angst. ;D If it's not to your liking, let me know and I'll write something more appealing to you. Just one last note - the POV does change from bit to bit. Thank you for reading!

* * *

* * *

_Halbarad_

She cuddles the pup, and I sigh as it snuggles its white fuzzy body closer to her. Eluned giggles and I shake my head and turn sharply as I hear a snicker. " _You_."

My kinsman and cousin attempts to look innocent and fails. "They seem taken with one another, Halbarad."

"That was to be my hunting dog."

"And now, he will guard your children instead." Slapping my shoulder, Aragorn chuckles and pauses to bend and ruffle Eluned's hair before leaving.

* * *

_Eluned_

"Sive!" I have mixed feelings as _my_ puppy licks my friends face, making her shriek and giggle. "Fain is mine!"

"Easy, Little Lune." Ada puts a hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place. "She's here enough to be one of mine. Let him learn to love her as well. What can it hurt?"

I want to pout, but Nana is watching with sharp eyes. I reluctantly nod. "Yes, Ada."

* * *

_Sive_

I will not cry. I know all too well that life is not fair. What is the loss of a leg? I have my life, and I should be grateful. I am. Truly.

But the tears are hot behind my eyelids and hard as I try, they slip down my cheeks.

A cold nose touches my cheek and I open my eyes to see Fain. Beloved Fain, cuddling in, almost climbing in my lap. I half-laugh, half-cry and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his soft white coat. No, he cannot bring my leg back or give me what has been robbed from me, but his tail thumps as he rests his head on my shoulder, and somehow eases the pain in my heart.

* * *

_Eluned_

"What are you carrying?" I catch up to Fain, thinking that he's trying to carry a well-gnawed and beloved stick to Sian who still is bedridden. Or worse; he has been known to bring a dead squirrel. One time he brought only part of one. "Fain..." I kneel, and white plume of a tail wagging, Fain deposits the chubby pup in my arms then sits with an expectant look. "Is he your pup?" It must be! He isn't as shaggy as his sire yet, but he has the same long tail and is licking my hands and arms and whatever else he can reach of me. I laugh and cuddle him. "Did you mean to bring him to Sive?"

The tail wags faster and I stand. "That is one of the best gifts I can imagine. " I set the pup down and Fain carefully picks the squirmy pup up by its neck. "Let's go show her!"

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much, much love to Ev for letting me borrow her babies! :D


	27. Prompt:  Beard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a prompt word just because beards deserve some appreciation too!

* * *

"See here, Master Elf." Gimli puts his hand out to one of the guard dogs, whose head is nearly as high as the Dwarf, and the long, curled tail begins to wag. "Have you ever seen so fierce a hound? Look at the teeth and the coat! The coat, Master Elf! Double-coated, and hardy. You'll never find a finer hound!" Speaking softly to the dog, Gimli runs his hands down her shoulders and into the thick ruff of fur around her neck. "Grimfala here has a litter, don't you my fine lass?"

The dog bounds away and returns with a fat, fuzzy pup that it presents to Gimli like any properly proud parent.

"Oh! Look at this fine wee fellow!" Gimli bends and picks the pup up to cuddle against his beard. "Who is the fine fellow? Are you? Yes, oh yes."

My Dwarven friend coos at the puppy then I have to laugh as it grabs hold of a braid and tugs fiercely.

"OH!" Gimli is still laughing, but also trying to loosen fierce puppy teeth from his beloved braids. "You are...OUCH! Now, heh...let go of my beard, pup. Oh, yes, you're fierce! Now let go..."

I laugh. "You seem to have found someone who appreciates your beard, Gimli!"

* * *

 


	28. Prompt:  Filling in the Gaps

* * *

"Gandalf?"

"What is it, Pippin?"

He hesitates and I sit. This might take a while.

"I have a question you might not like."

Stars preserve us all. "Ask, Peregrine Took. I don't promise to answer."

He blurts, "I overhead some of those Lothlórien elves talking about your returning to them by Eagle, and how your staff had to be remade and I wondered..."

"You wondered what?" It comes out a bit menacing. I know it will little sway this particular hobbit.

"Did you carve it yourself or did one of the elves? You see, Merry and I have a bet..."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to every single person reading this! I grin like a fool with every review. You are all very kind. :)


	29. Prompt:  Handicapped

* * *

I am broken, body and soul. Death will be welcome, though I don't expect the Doomsman to be kind.

Why would he? I am traitor, twisted and tormented.

What chance did I ever have? A father who loathed and loved as if they were the same thing, a mother who loved but wished... Oh, she wished for many things. None of them came to pass.

It grows dim. I feel a call, a tugging at my spirit. Summoning me.

He is fearsome, this Doomsman. I cannot face him. I am dreadful.

_"Child. Come, you are weary. Sleep and be healed."_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short, a true drabble for once. Maeglin is the character if you couldn't guess. I've always felt very sad for him. His parents were so...well, their relationship was, at the least, highly dysfunctional. Maeglin was young, so young for an elf, when he came to Gondolin. I don't think he knew how to live with the elves there and he was smart, but not so much when it came to societal norms. My hope was always that he found some healing in Mandos, and maybe? Found out what love truly is.


	30. Prompt:  Mixed Feelings

 

* * *

"That was a long tale." Gimli combs fingers through his beard, gazing out at the night. "Was she real, this Mithrellas?"

"As real as you or I."

He shakes his head. "You Elves and your sad tales. Are there no happy endings for those who love another kindred?"

I think of Lúthien and Beren. Was theirs a happy ending? They were together at least. Or Tuor and Idril, though none this side of the sea know how that ended. I count Eärendil and Elwing as sad, for he sails the starry sea and she ... she waits, or so the tales say. I hope she's found better things to do than wait. "What of your Dwarven tales, Gimli? Do they tell of any happy endings for such pairs?"

Quiet a moment, he shakes his head. "Nay, lad." He meets my gaze, thoughtful. "Aragorn and his lady..."

I know their love has survived much already. Long years with nothing but hope and two hearts that were resolutely true to one another. "I think they will give us new songs to sing, Gimli. Happier ones."

With a nod, he stands. "Well then! A Dwarven tale now, Master Elf! Sit, and listen..."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for commenting. I apologize for not replying personally - December is sad for me, and January as well. But please do believe me when I say I really appreciate every one. Take care.


	31. Prompt:  Hatred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV of Ecthelion on the re-embodiment of his grandfather

* * *

* * *

It has been a long time. Too long, for Grandfather thinks in ways that no longer make sense. Ways that would split open the still-sensitive scar tissue of the old wound. One only has to say the name.

**Alqualondë**.

Opinions will fly and so will fists! They say the Noldor are hot-blooded, the creators, always seeking more, always pushing. That Teler are content with the sea and stars and have no need for more. They say it like a slur, as if we are lazy and offer nothing of value.

I refuse to be drawn into that argument. My blood is mixed with both kindred. I see strengths and talents in each that complement one another. Maglor was Noldorin and one of the greatest Bards trained in Alqualondë. I fought and died in the defense of a Noldorin High King and yet my mother comes from an unbroken line of Telerin bards and instrument makers.

Yes, the ships were beautiful and can never be re-made.

Yes, the theft of the Silmarils terrible.

Ships. Jewels. They are not living, breathing folk. What is most important?

The shining soul I see in a smile. That is what is worth dying ...and living for.

* * *

 


	32. The Nature of Evil

There are those who will feel pity for someone who has done evil deeds, citing childhood problems or the influence of others.

I tell you this.  Each person must be responsible for their own actions once they are of adult status.  It will not do to place blame upon society or others.  You and you alone must determine the course of your life, and your actions and thoughts will show this clearly.

I am not sad nor sorrowful as I see the tower fall.  Many years has this one tormented the good folk of Middle-earth.

Ilúvatar have mercy on him.


	33. Prompt:  Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before you read on, read this. No, really. This is AU. Very AU. It's not slash, it's broship. What happened to them to get here? Why did it happen? I don't know. Let me know what you think. It's also waaaay over the word limit. C'est la guerre.

* * *

The knife slid in easily, so quickly through clothing, flesh, not once striking bone and he held his breath as he heard the gasp, the gurgle and let the weight of the man carry the knife and his arm down with it to the ground.

Quick, silent. Wiping the blade, he crouched and looked around, ears sharp for any sounds. He froze as a shadow, lighter than the rest (how had he missed it) floated forward. No, not floated; it was the smooth gait of the man that made it look like he was floating. Had to be. No one floated. Must be a smooth gait and the midnight deep flow of his cloak. Inside the cloak something glowed blue. Not the blue of sky, or water, this was somehow far more eerie.

"Stand away." Was the idiot deaf? The stranger moved forward smoothly and stopped just a hairs-breath out of knife range. Another of their kind? No, there was no guild marking, no fold of his cloak that signed him as guild.

"What did he do to you?"

He took a step back, knife ready, held against his leg where the cloak hid the gleam of the metal and shook his head. Dirty brown hair fell in his face, and he shook his head again, encouraging more to fall, to cover his face from the sharp eyes watching within that cloak. He felt exposed, bare, and took another step into the shadows. "Naught but what needed to be done." He wanted away from this stranger. There was a gathering power in that eerie gleaming, something that set the hair of his neck crawling like ants on his skin.

"I could call the King's Watch on you."

A cautious glance, just a second, that was all it was, the time it took for a quick gasp of air and then the stranger was there, almost on him. He brought the knife up, felt his wrist caught but never even saw movement and gasped again as fingers dug into his tendons. His fingers weakened, and just as the knife would have fallen, the stranger caught it, flipping it handily to hold it at the hilt.

"You're too good for this, and yes, I see the guild mark." The stranger also saw the second blade and caught the other hand neatly in a strong grip. White teeth showed as he smiled. "Don't add kin-slaying to your sins. They're adding up fast."

"As are the lice." The second voice was far more disdainful, with accents that dripped of ballrooms, silken divans and gilded platters.

"I bathed last week!"

"Last week." One golden brow rose as the newcomer stepped to the side of the cloaked man. "So recently? Dispatch him and let us be on our way. We have much to do."

"D…dispatch. That…I know what that means. I'm guild! You cannot kill me! They'll bury you after they string you up by your balls and throw your bodies to the rats!"

A smirk curled the lordly one's mouth. "He actually managed a new threat. Kill him quickly, Erestor. He amused me."

"It was your turn." Yet before he was done speaking the knife slid into the man's heart, smooth and breathless as the caress of a lover. He arranged the body near the first. "They'll think it was a mark gone bad."

"Námo doesn't care." A gesture, two fingers up, quick motion down and the two bodies glowed the same blue as the pair who watched. A pop of sound, something like air gone out of a lung suddenly, and the bodies dulled to black shapes on the cobblestones. "There. He's satisfied."

"For now." Pushing back his black hair, Erestor smirked at his companion. "How many more tonight?"

"Just three." Blue eyes gleamed as the golden-haired of the pair accepted the knife. "I wager I can take two down before you could even dispatch this one."

Dark eyes rolled. "Glorfindel, you never cease to amuse me."

"That's what Námo said."

"Yes, and look where we are."

The night was silent a moment as the pair moved on. "Admit it, my friend. It is better than being locked up in Mandos' Halls for all of eternity. What would we do but float about, bodiless, and feed ourselves on memories?"

"You annoyed Námo."

A low chuckle. "It worked, didn't it?"

"You have a very odd idea of existence."

"So long as I am with you, Erestor. So long as I am with you."

 

* * *


	34. Lifeline

**Prompt: Lifeline**

_Then suddenly he beheld his sister, Éowyn as she lay, and he knew her. He stood a moment as a man who is pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; and then his face went deathly white, and a cold fury rose in him, so that all speech failed him for a while._

'The Battle of the Pelennor Fields', The Return of the King

* * *

Her hand is cold. Too cold as I clasp it between mine. I wish I had seen how desperate she was to be free, but I was caught up with other concerns.

"Sister." I lean forward and wish with all that is in me that she would awaken. So much is gone, so many dead, and still we face a possible end.

I would not lose this one fierce heart as well. I cannot! She is all that I have left of kin, and dearer to me than she ever knew, I fear.

"Come back to me, Éowyn. Please."


	35. Prompt: Dreams and Fantasies

* * *

  
_"Stomped on by an Oliphaunt?"_  
  
 _The spirit of the man quaked but he shook his head. "No, my lord."_  
  
 _"Hmm." Gleaming eyes of silver studied the form before him. "Trampled by horses?"_  
  
 _"Er..no." With a gulp he added, "My lord."_  
  
 _"I know!" Namo snapped his fingers. "Crushed by cosplayers offered a free gift at Comicon!"_  
  
 _"Comi..." Now almost crying, the spirit of the slain Easterling fell to his knees. "An arrow, my lord. I was slain by an arrow."_  
  
 _"How commonplace. Oh well, off you go." Namo picked him up, patted his head and sent him on._  
  
"Pippin! No more cider for you!"  
  
"I told you it was a strange dream!"


	36. Prompt:  I Know You, But Where?

* * *

* * *

Fading was not supposed to be this. We had believed it was losing the will to live and slowly slipping the bonds of life.

"May I help you?"

There is no trace of recognition in her eyes, no sign that she remembers...

Anything.

The lines of her face are engraved in my memory. On my soul. How could I ever forget?

Yet, she has.

I offer a polite bow. "Forgive me. I must have the wrong address."

I feel her gaze follow me, but she does not.

Is this true fading then? Not even recognizing your own beloved?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, strange dream I had where Glorfindel and Erestor are in 1890's or Sherlockian era England looking for Bronwe who, of course, never sailed West. She has faded, but not like they expected - she's become less elvish and more human. So much so she doesn't recognize Glorfindel. I know! o; where do these awful ideas keep coming from?


	37. Fight On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fight On
> 
> This is movie-verse. I've always wondered about that scene where Elrond shows up in the Rohirrm camp with Andúril. Seriously? He rode *all* that way to deliver a sword and then just left? Lots of problems in my mind with that but fun fodder for fanfics!

  


* * *

"Do you bring more elves to help us fight?" I had been reluctant to accept their help at Helm's Deep, but we were outnumbered and though not a huge army, the archers the Elves had brought had been a boon. There is a light in the elf's gaze, a fey thing. It looks as though a distant star shimmers and dances in his blue eyes. I look away for his gaze is deep, as though he can see through me to the very heart of my doubt.

"No, _Théoden_ King." His voice is low and there is a note in it that reminds me of the deep sonorous tone of bells.

"Did Lord Elrond send you to fight with us?" For I have learned that while elves look lean and lack brawn, they are deceptively strong and fearfully fast. The one looks to be a warrior, and carries a sword as if one born to fight.

"I bring you Lord Elrond of Rivendell."

He steps to one side and I see then the man standing by my standard. He is tall as all Elves seem to be, and there is something about him, though his cloak is dusty and mud crusts the hem, that tell me he is no less a king than I. "Lord Elrond." I try to hide my surprise. First archers comes in his name and now the Elf-Lord himself? "Do you bring us another army?"

The grey eyes are weary, but I see steel beneath the exhaustion. "I have come for Aragorn."

"He is here." I am cautious. We need every fighting man, and Aragorn has proven himself mighty among men. "We would feel his loss sorely. We ride to Gondor's aid, Lord Elrond. It is a desperate hour for mankind."

The dark head bows and when he looks up the grey eyes are adamantine. "I give you hope, _Théoden_ King, though you might not see it as such."

His words are a riddle and I have little time to bandy words with elves who have all eternity stretched before them. I wave one of my men over. "Take Lord Elrond to my tent then bring Lord Aragorn to him." The bitterness cannot help but show in my gaze, but I care not. "Safe travels to you, Lord Elrond. I will not see you again, for we ride to ruin."

The hand that stays me as I walk away is shocking and I nearly pull my dagger before I realize it is the golden-haired Elf who accompanied his lord. "Do not give in to despair, _Théoden_ King. Many pieces are moving upon this board of battle, some which will arrive unforeseen."

"I see only what my eyes show me." I pull my arm away and walk past him. Morning will dawn and we must ride to fight on, whatever the cost.

 


	38. Deadline

_**Prompt: Deadline** _

* * *

The words are not coming to me, and I look out the window to see daylight is fading. Elessar has asked to have my thoughts on this treaty. We meet tomorrow, but my mind is blank.

"Ada!"

I smile at the sound of small feet running and push my chair back in time to catch up my youngest daughter. She throws her arms around me and presses a kiss to my cheek with a loud smack. "Ada!"

"Mmm..." I hold her and smell her hair. "You smell of spring and flowers, Léofwyn."

"Ada, come see!" She wriggles out of my arms and tugs at my hand. "Remember the dead balls Nana planted? They are making flowers!"

"Are they?"

"Yes!" Another tug, this one stronger. "Come and see!"

I cannot resist and so we go see the miracle of spring.

Much later when the candles are lit and my family is asleep, I find I can concentrate and easily write out my thoughts. On my desk, there is a small purple flower, one of those who venture upwards earlier than others. Léofwyn left it there in a small clay jar. She said I needed to bring some outside in with me so that I could think. I touch it and smile. My children are wise, sometimes far wiser than their mother or I. They live and grow in a time of peace, watched over by the king we have only dreamed of for many centuries. My work is important, and I will do all I can to support Elessar.

But the flower reminds me there is more to life than deadlines and treaties. There is the laughter of children, the smile and love of my wife and the beauty of this land.

And those... Those are worth all that we sacrificed.

 


	39. Far-fetched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Far-Fetched
> 
> This is crackfic, my friends! D and I were talking about characters in the modern world and he challenged me to make a certain someone an Uber driver. Not sure I did a great job, but challenge accepted! For D, who laughs at my jokes and puts up with my love of words.

  


* * *

"Where too, friend?"

I'm reading a text, trying to remember the presentation coming up and what appointments I have that day. I rattle off an address that is more home than my apartment and sit back. As the car starts forward there is a faint sound of bells jingling but I ignore the oddity to answer my colleague's impatient text.

It's a fair way across town to get to my office, so I scroll through emails, trying to get an edge on the day's work.

"What do you do for a living?"

"Hmm?" I look up and find he's looking at me in the rear-view mirror. "Uh...medical consultant." It's disconcerting, that look. The eyes are bluer than they should be and ...is that really his hair? I know a few model friends who would _kill_ to get that shade of blond! I turn to my phone again, but this guy, he's one of those friendly, chatty types.

"Ah, a healer. I have several friends who are healers. Back home."

"Where's home?" I ask to be polite, but glance up.

"Quite a ways from here!"

He grins and I feel poleaxed. Why is this guy driving Uber when he could be in Hollywood making millions with his looks and charm? A chill sweeps over me. Oh no. Is this guy a serial killer? They say they're charming and good looking and... "Um...hey, this isn't the way to my office."

"It isn't?" He leans forward to consult the GPS and taps it. "Asfaloth! Noro lim! The lady is in a hurry!"

Asfaloth? Okay, so...he's what, Swedish? Or something? Before long, we're back on the highway and passing cars left and right. I grip the seatbelt, knuckles white, and remember prayers I haven't said since I was a child. "Aren't you going a little fast?"

He's humming, and I have to admit, he has a good voice. "Oh, don't worry! Asfaloth is very fast, but he has never lost a rider yet!"

Okay, he's a jolly psychopath. Wonderful! "M..maybe just drop me off on -"

"I could not do that! You paid for the entire fare, miss."

And suddenly gentle light fills the car, and I feel a sense of peace wash over me. "Right. Thanks."

The rest of the ride is a blur. He pays the toll at the bridge and we go over without incident, and take the first exit. I see my building, one street up from the river and start gathering my things. "Thank you, Mr..." I seem to have forgotten the name on the Uber app.

We pull up in front of my building over twenty minutes earlier than any Uber ride I've ever taken and he turns to smile. "Laurë. Just Laurë. Have a wonderful day, miss!"

I watch the white SUV pull away and disappear quickly into traffic and have to smile. He's crazy, but you never know what you'll get with Uber and hey, I'm early enough to get a coffee!

 


	40. Valinor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Valinor
> 
> I always wondered who had the honor of sailing Sam to Aman. I really doubt it went down like this, but then again...

  


* * *

" ** _He_** already got to go back once."

"Samwise won't know you. He will remember me."

"You barely spoke with him, Erestor!" Lindir crossed his arms and shook his head. "I spoke with him several times."

With a shrug, Glorfindel sat on the ground before sprawling backwards to look at the clouds in the skies. "I'm content to remain here."

"Gentlemen, a word, please." Celebrían smiled as silence fell around the circle of elves. "Thank you. I suggest we let Frodo decide."

A chuckle from the ground was Glorfindel. "Always said she was smarter than the lot of us."

"Thank you, Lady Celebrían." Frodo, silver in his hair, but still bright of eye, smiled. "I suggest Lord Elrond. Sam knows him and..." Clasping his hands together, he sighed. "I think a healer would be a good idea."

"You think he is wounded?" Glorfindel sat up, suddenly somber.

"Not wounds you could see, but he will be weary and heart sore from losing Rosie."

Erestor nodded and looked at Lindir. "I agree."

Celebrían smiled. "And he cannot leave me behind so I will go also."

Frodo sat next to Glorfindel and smiled. "She _is_ wise. I cannot wait for Sam to arrive!"

 


	41. First Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: First Word
> 
> For Arianka, who requested more of these two (from Fields of Gold, Until We Rise and Cast My Soul to the Sea). Hopefully this is a bit sweeter than the last!

  


* * *

"What do you think was the first word the Awakened spoke?"

Capturing the hand that was pointing upwards towards the stars above them, Glorfindel brought it to his lips to kiss before resting it upon his chest. "Beautiful?"

"You think they spoke that quickly?"

"Hmm." Pursing his lips, he considered. "Perhaps not. What about 'I'm hungry.'"

She laughed. "I think my first thought would be who are all of you?"

"But would they know how to conceptualize a feeling?" Turning his head, he waggled an eyebrow. "I think it was more likely, _'Hellooooo_...what's _**your**_ name?'"

"That could be said without words." Bronwe laughed. "Yes, just like that." Her gaze went to the stars again, brilliant in the black of the sky. "Perhaps they simply sang." She slanted a look at him. "Though it is said the wives only had eyes for their mates."

"Who had only eyes for the stars, the fools." Pulling her down to him, Glorfindel traced a hand along her face. "I know what my first word would be."

"What is that?"

_"Vanimelda."  
_

* * *

_Thank you for reading! :)_

 


	42. Remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added this prompt after seeing this picture on Tumblr. It told me it had to be written. It's on DeviantArt and is by HorheSoloma - https://horhesoloma.deviantart.com/art/Ecthelion-656164107

Of course there is a fountain. A small one that sings a quiet, burbling song, almost like a hymn, and Ecthelion pauses to dip his hands in it, before bringing his hands to his face. The water is a benediction, a cool caress that calms the turmoil in his heart a bit.

His heart is pounding.

He had not expected anything. Certainly not a memorial. Who had done this? Most of the people of his house had died that night, or later, in the many griefs that had followed. His house had gone to battle playing flutes.

Ecthelion still cannot bear to hear flutes. Not yet.

Not yet.

He steps into the cool chamber, admiring the sparkling white marble walls and the stone tile floors. There is an inlet where white candles have been lit. A remembrance. Not for him, not just for him. For his people. His house. It is a Telerin custom, this remembrance, and so he walks softly, quietly forward and lights a taper from the candles, puts the flame to an unlit candle and drops the taper in the sand.

They had a cove like this in his house, both when he was growing up and his house in Gondolin.

Remembrance. The dead, the lost at sea, the prodigals yet to return. Never forgotten. The light of the candles burns to show the way home. To show the light of the heart still burns. Still hopes.

He hopes more have found their way home and passes his finger through the flames, just the smallest caress of heat, then steps away as memories come crowding forward.

no...

No.

Turning, he sees the stand and the sword and sheath and time stops for a moment. It cannot be his ( _melted, melded to his skin, to his hands, to the heat of the creature he has embraced..._ ).

No. It is a replica, a very good one and he takes a step closer to look at the blade.

But he does not reach out to hold it.

His hands ache with the memory of fire and flame, and he focuses on the runes etched into the metal. They are not the same as his, and he is thankful for that. It would be too much. Too real. Someone placed a Fëanorian lamp, its blue light a lovely counterpart to the gold of the candles, and he touches his hand ( _shaking, unscarred, unburned_ ) to his heart.

Then turns away.

A shaft of light has found the fountain, and it illuminates the water with a myriad of colors that reflect on the walls in a shifting pattern.

Ecthelion touches his hands to the water again, sending ripples through the fountain, and watches the light scatter through the room. That fountain, the great Fountain of the King, ( _deep, cold, sinking, the flame of the creature boiling the water, down...down to the dark bottom_ ) had been fouled by the Úmaiar. He steadies his will and watches the light.

There are voices outside, someone coming near, and he pulls his cloak hood deeper over his face, unwilling as yet to speak. His voice ( _shouting to be heard over the roar of creatures, the screams of friends, his people, gasping as the heat scorched his lungs_ ) is healed, they tell him this, but still. He has yet to speak.

A quick bow as he passes those coming in, and he pauses to listen to the song of the fountain mingling with their quiet voices. It is a lovely song, and he walks away with it playing in his mind.

 


	43. Prompt:  Vanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: read with a grain of salt, dear reader. I do like Boromir, a brave and noble man of Gondor. He's just such a great target with that snow saucer of a shield!

* * *

 

In Gondor he is considered the highest catch on the marriage mart.  A prize of a man for some fortunate girl.  There is no matron in Minas Tirith who has not set her daughter at him at one time or another.

Which is why he cannot believe that the lord of the realm's daughter barely even offered more than a cursory smile and nod of her head before she took the hand of the scruffy fellow who claims to be Isildur's heir! 

As he sits in the Hall of Fire that night, he watches them, watches the Elves and the Dwarves and the other men, and it comes to him:  Rivendell has a different standard of attraction.  Of course!  Why else would the ethereal daughter not sigh and flutter her eyelashes at him?  These elves with their glossy, long hair, hardly a bulging muscle on the whole lot and no beards!  Who can fathom them?

He laughs into his mug of mulled wine and settles back in his chair.  Tomorrow he will finally be able to speak again to the lord of this realm who must understand how vital it is that he be heard.  He will be glad to go home again, to his beloved realm that is the fairest of all in Middle-earth.  Next time, perhaps he will let Faramir make the journey.  Faramir, fond of dreams and the long-lost languages, would dearly love Rivendell.  Yes, Boromir nods, pleased with his decision.  He will definitely have to tell Faramir about Rivendell.  Just as soon as he gets home.


	44. The Lion and the Mouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU of my AU. Does that make it an AU²? And oh, it's far, FAR too long to be a drabble!

Prompt: The Lion and the Mouse

* * *

**_First Age, Beleriand_ **

They had come upon the scene entirely by accident, or so it seemed at first. Riding down the shore one night, making sure the coastline was safe for any travellers making the journey from the Falas to Vinyamar, they had heard a commotion and rode hard to find a group of Falathrim fighting for their lives. The Orcs were better armed with curving, wicked swords, and dark knives, and already there were seven elves bleeding in the surf. With a cry of rage, the Noldor rode into the fray, gleaming swords making short work of the Orcs.

But it was clear they were too late for most of the elves. One woman sat on the shore, blood from a cut on her head soaking her light blond hair and cloak, and just stared at them when they spoke to her. Another woman, sat in the surf, holding a man who looked so alike to her he must be a relative. She was keening and crying, arms wrapped around him as the waves gently rolled up to rock them.

Glorfindel shook his head as Ecthelion knelt in the sand, ignoring the lapping waves, and spoke to her. What were they doing out so far from the Falas at night? Orcs might not like the sea, but they never hesitated to hide in the tall sea grass of the dunes and attack the unwary. He didn't understand what Ecthelion was saying, Glorfindel had never had any reason to learn Telerin, but he sighed and went over to help him get the girl to stand as they pulled the body of the man up on the shore, out of the waves.

"You must come with us. It is not safe here." Removing his cloak, Ecthelion draped it over the body of the man, covering his sightless eyes staring up at the stars.

Trembling, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, the girl shook her head and spoke so softly the waves almost drowned out her words. "We cannot. We must return home to bury my brother."

"It is not safe," Ecthelion repeated, and gestured to the other woman, clearly in shock, who could not even stand. "You must come with us."

"To where? And what would become of my father when we do not come home?" She shook her head, brown hair wrapping around her neck and shoulders as the wind gusted off the sea. "Thank you for your help but-"

"We are not leaving you here." Glorfindel stepped in and fixed his gaze on her, frowning as she winced and looked away. Damn the Darkness! Did it never leave the innocent alone in these cursed lands? How had these gentle people survived so long in such a dangerous place? "Get the wounded up and on horses, Girlach. They are coming with us."

"You cannot make us-"

"I can and I am." He was tired of seeing people die. Tired of coming across entire villages where Orcs had wiped out every elf, leaving the buildings ash and rubble. Every time they went out on patrol they found yet another atrocity of Melkor, another stain upon the land. Taking hold of her arm, he marched her over to one of his men and handed her over. "She will ride with you."

She pulled against the hand holding her and glared at Glorfindel. "We lived here for ages untold before your people arrived. In the starlight, before the coming of your lights. What right do you have-"

None. He had no right to make them come with him. Then again, he wasn't about to see two elves, one of them badly wounded, try to make their way back to wherever their home was and tend to the bodies. His grandmother would tear a strip of flesh off his back for being so high-handed, but Glorfindel set his will and held her gaze. "Bury the dead. We need to move on."

He walked away then, closing his ears to the girl's words.

Ecthelion followed him. "We really have no right to do this, you know."

"What would you have me do, Ecthelion?" Glorfindel rounded on him, letting his anger and frustration bleed into his tone. "Leave them here, one elf wounded, seven dead and let that girl take care of them all?"

"That _girl_ ," Ecthelion mimicked his Vanyarin accent, "is old enough to remember the days before the sun. Why can we not take her and the wounded woman back to their village? It cannot be far."

"And then what? Leave them to be wiped out like all the others we have seen?"

A sigh, and Ecthelion took his arm, leading him away from the others. "Laurë, you cannot save everyone, nor can we take their freedom from them. This is what Turukáno is doing, asking us all to leave the home we love to go to that city of stone in the mountains where we shall never see our friends and family again. It is what the Valar did, telling us if we left we would be exiled and doomed. They wanted to keep us _safe_." The word was said with a grimace. " Turukáno wants to keep us safe." He released his friend, and shook his head. "Would you dictate your will to these people as well?"

"They will die, Ecthelion."

"Perhaps." Pushing a black braid out of his face, Ecthelion sighed. "But that is up to them, Laurë. It is how they choose to live. Taking that choice from them is unfair, and not worthy of you. You are a better man than this."

Glorfindel grimaced and looked towards the sea, towards the lands he knew were there, just beyond his reach. Home. His parents and brother and sister. Their families. Sometimes he missed the hills and valleys of his home so much that he awoke from his dreams and rose from his bed to walk the city, unable to sleep. Unable to bear the thought of maybe never seeing them again.

All because they had wanted to return to the lands of their forefathers. Oh, yes, it had been a hasty, angry decision, done poorly, but the Valar had reacted just as poorly, and punished them for their choice.

Turning, he strode back to his men, to the girl. "We cannot leave you here alone with a wounded companion, and your dead. Let us help you take them back to your village and then we will leave."

She looked at him in surprise, gaze going to Ecthelion who offered a wry smile and a quiet comment in Telerin. A nod, and she turned her attention to Glorfindel. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me. It is no favor we do here." He turned away and gestured for his men to follow, removing his cloak as he walked to bend and place it over one of the dead.

Would there ever be an end to the Darkness that forever seemed to bend its will upon this land?

Glorfindel had little hope.

* * *

**_Second Age, Somewhere not too far from Lindon_ **

It had been the sudden explosion of a pheasant from a thicket that had done it. His horse had shot into the air, back hunched, head down, all four hooves off the ground, and come down only to blow right back up, twisting and kicking as if the biggest, baddest wolf of the entire course of creation was nipping at its hocks. There was no controlling it, no reason, it was suddenly only a herd animal scared out of its ever-loving mind and bent on only escape.

He'd stuck longer than he'd expected.

Then the tree limb had intervened and that had ended Glorfindel's wild ride.

He lay flat on his back, trying to remember how to breathe and only belatedly realized the strange noise was coming from him. It was an odd noise somewhere between a groan and a wheeze. Just when he was certain he was going to die because his lungs couldn't seem to remember to work, he gasped and sucked in a painful breath.

Pain lanced down his back and shot to his head and he clenched his teeth, swallowing hard to keep the bile down.

Blast the horse! Hopefully it would regain its mind and run home. That would cause a stir, but then how would anyone know where to find him? He'd told no one that he was going for a ride.

He truly hoped that pheasant ended up on someone's dinner table. Or maybe in the belly of a starving wolf.

Middle-earth was proving no safer this time around that his previous life. At least no warg or Orc had come to feast on him as he was sprawled on the ground, waiting for his lungs to behave!

Ah, but the day was young yet, fog barely beginning to clear from the coast. Glorfindel mentally snorted at his dark humor. Elrond would not appreciate it. His humor was rapidly fading as the days darkened and the King refused to send help to see what was going on in Ost-in-Edhil. Damn the proud necks of the Noldor!

Now Glorfindel did laugh, a weak sound that made his head ache but cheered him; his lungs were going to let him live after all! It would be grand if the rest of his body would also cooperate, but the pounding in his head and the ache in his back told him it likely would be better to wait a bit.

Then he heard the quiet clop of a horses' hooves, and took a stuttering breath before attempting to sit up. Pain burned an agonizing path up his spine, shooting like lances into his head and he felt his breakfast rising. There was no fighting it, his stomach rebelled, but his attempt to roll to his side was quickly aborted as pain washed over him and the world rolled wildly.

He heard someone running and felt cool hands on his forehead for a moment, before whoever it was took his shoulders and turned him. Bile and his breakfast were making a second appearance, and he coughed, gagging as it burned.

"Shhh, easy. You breathed in some of that, and that is not good."

A hand rubbed his back as he fought to breathe, the pain washing his vision into a fuzzy grey.

He struggled to speak, but the grey was darkening to black. Glorfindel's eyes rolled back and the world fell away.

He was awake, but not where he had fallen for ground was not so soft as whatever was underneath him. Where then? The lingering sense of pain in his head told him he at least was not in the care of Námo. That was a relief.

Slowly opening his eyes, he blinked the world into focus and frowned. The pattern of beams and wood were definitely not the ridiculously decorated ceilings of his rooms. Gil-galad's builders had been drinking, or so Glorfindel thought, when they had painted silly chubby toddlers with wings and tiny bow and arrows, surrounded by fat, fluffy clouds and gloriously blue skies. No, this was far too simple for any room in the Noldorin High King's palace.

"I see you finally awakened."

He slowly turned his head to see who was speaking and, just for a moment, felt as though he was two beings, split between the past and the present. His mind struggled to anchor itself as time slipped backwards and forwards, former life to present, before wobbling to a staggering halt. Glorfindel blinked several times before sighing. "I will take your word for it."

She sat next to the bed, gaze going over his face as if assessing how he felt. "How is your head feeling?"

"Less likely to shatter at any moment."

The smile curled one corner of her mouth. "That's a good beginning."

Was that a dimple? Had it been there before? He couldn't remember, but then she hadn't smiled then, had she? "You were blazingly furious last time."

"So it truly is you."

Glorfindel opened his eyes again, curious to see what she felt about that. She looked perplexed.

"I thought the arrogant fëa was familiar, but then you weren't trying to dictate what I should do, so I wasn't certain."

He offered a wry smile. "Námo's halls have a curious way of stealing the arrogance out of even the most proud."

"It's true then." She shook her head. "The dead do return from the Halls."

Was he the only elf so far who had come back to Middle-earth? They had told him it was so, but his unquestioning trust in the Powers had been shaken badly by... Well. All of the First Age. All the horrors and the battles and the death of so many elves and men. Oh, Gondolin falling had been no great surprise. After all, Tuor had warned them.

They had been the ones who ignored Ulmo's warning. Proud and hard were the heads of the Noldor. He knew it all too well.

"Yes. Eventually." Glorfindel closed his eyes. "Usually." He sighed. "It is complicated." He heard a puff of air that could be a quiet laugh or a small huff of impatience. "I take it you found me."

"Sprawled on the ground, looking as if an Ent backhanded you?" This time the quiet laugh was definitely there. "Yes. Do you always test the strength of branches with your head?"

"No." He pursed his lips, wondering if the horse had made its way home and if the pheasant had met a fitting end in some predator's belly. "Only when malicious fowl feel the need to frighten witless horses."

"That was what Lord Elrond guessed."

That opened his eyes. "Truly?" Elrond was gifted in many things, but to See such an insignificant event? Or perhaps the Valar, in a fit of whimsy, decided to gift it to his friend, as a way to counteract any lingering awe anyone felt towards the elf returned to Middle-earth. Not that the particular malady had affected Elrond. It seemed confined to Gil-galad and his Court, thankfully.

The dimple made another appearance. "There were pheasant feathers not far from where you fell."

Ah! Well then, perhaps the witless fowl had only been trying to escape its own demise when it frightened his horse. Glorfindel still did not feel badly for the bird.

"Elrond has been here."

"Yes."

Not the talkative type. He liked that about the Teleri. They weren't given to spouting their opinions. It seemed to be more a habit of the Noldor and Vanyar. "And where, exactly, is here?" He opened his eyes again, searching for a window, and seeing only trees, swaying gently in a breeze. But there was the tang of the sea in the air that told him they were likely in the woods just outside of Lindon that ran along the long stretch of dunes and coast.

"My home." She met his gaze when he looked at her. "I found you not far from here. You were too hurt to be carried far."

"You carried me?" Of course women were as strong as men, but Glorfindel was Noldorin and Vanyarin, taller and broader about the shoulders than most Elves not born in Aman. "That could not have been an easy task."

"My horse didn't complain." Leaning forward, she plucked a length of his hair off the bedding and held it up. "She did take a fancy to your hair."

"Not the first time a horse has thought it something tasty." He eyed the hairs which did look a bit more frayed than the rest. "My thanks for your rescue."

Sitting back, she shrugged. "Just paying the favor back."

He smiled, and held her gaze a little longer than was truly held to be decorous by the dames of Court. "I never did learn your name."

"And all I know of yours is Glorfindel of Gondolin." One brown eyebrow arched above grey eyes. "Your friend called you Laurë."

"Who? Oh, Ecthelion." His smile faded a bit. "He was a good friend. Gave me a raking over about trying to dictate to you."

She stood and shook out her skirts. Her gown was a simple dark blue, with nothing frilly or frivolous about it. Brown hair was braided back and her hands looked nothing like those of the pampered women of court. There was a familiar look in her eyes - one that he saw in those who had survived the worst times of the First Age. "Lord Elrond will be here later today to fetch you back to Lindon."

"And what of you." There were stains on her hands that he had seen often on Elrond's. Those gained from working with herbs and plants. "What did Elrond have to say to you?"

She shook her head. "What would he say to me but thanks for finding and tending to his friend." A shrug and she turned.

Glorfindel reached out and caught her hand. "You're a healer. He is always curious about teas and such that others use. Elrond is endlessly curious, or did you miss that about him?"

Looking at his hand, holding hers, she nodded. "He asked many questions."

"Talented healers are needed." He let go her hand as the thoughts of what his cousin, Galadriel, and her husband, Celeborn might even now be facing. And Celebrimbor... He had met him several times and had liked the quick wit of the man. There was no elf alive with his talent for the forge, but that might yet lead to trouble.

Must history always circle back to teach the same lesson time and time again?

"The days are growing darker." He looked to her again.

"Yes." Tilting her head, she frowned at him. "We did discuss that. I have not made a decision yet. The thought of leaving the quiet woods for a Noldorin Court do little to entice me."

He smiled then, feeling joy bubble forth like sunshine, unasked for. "There are other things than the Noldorin Court in Lindon."

Her gaze held his and for a moment time slipped again, and the everything titled before settling gently, softly back into place.

A nod and she walked to the door before turning. "Bronwë. My name is Bronwë."

Glorfindel smiled. The world suddenly did not seem so dark and hopeless.


	45. Prompt:  Murderer

* * *

* * *

"Murderers!"

She flung the word at him as if it were a weapon and he ducked, so strong was the emotion behind the insult. Then he straightened to his full height and leveled his grim frown upon her. "Give us the Silmaril and we will leave you. I sent you a warning-"

She spat on his boots and took another step back, closer to the drop behind her, the precarious cliff face crumbling even under her slight weight. The Silmaril glowed and pulsed brighter and brighter as if responding to her defiance. Slight woman, dark hair wrapping around her like a shawl as the winds gusted against her from the sea. The waves were tossing like a restless horse, foaming and dashing against the base of the cliff.

"You have nowhere to run."

"I will not run. Not now." Elwing lifted her chin, and met their fey gazes. "You will never have it."

"You could ransom your children for it." Maglor spread his hands, desperate in that moment to both possess the jewel and not see the last remnant of Doriath ruined. The Oath was screaming in his mind and he shook his head. "Do not deny us!" Not a plea, it was too rough, too full of lust for the jewel to be a plea.

"My children." Her voice trembled and she shook her head. "We are all dead!"

Then she stepped back.

Maglor reached for her even as Maedhros lunged forward, but there was nothing of which to take hold.

No jewel.

Nothing.

Maedhros clenched his hand around his sword and swore viciously as a pillar of water surged up in a towering form from the sea, sending water and kelp showering down as Ulmo caught Elwing in his giant hands. A moment, a heartbeat, one, two and then he tossed a white bird from his hands, and upon its breast the Silmaril beamed a brilliant light.

Maglor stared at the form of Ulmo as it crashed back down against the rocks, leaving naught but water, foam and kelp. The Valar were ever against them. They had been so close this time. "It is lost," Maglor murmured and let his sword fall.

Jaw working, Maedhros finally let out a long breath. When he turned he was calmer. "There are two others." Sheathing his sword, Maedhros looked at his brother and wondered if he looked as gaunt and weary. They were the last of the seven sons of Fëanor and the Oath bit hard upon their heels. "Come, brother. Elwing is out of our reach, but we cannot leave her children alone to wander."

Murderer. The word burned at his heart, but he hardened his will and walked back towards the town, his last brother at his side.


	46. Prompt:  Metal

* * *

 

_Somewhere deep in the fastness of Mandos._

"What I wouldn't give for just one more touch."

"One last caress."

"The scent as heat rises."

"The look as she lies there, cooling.  Ready for your next touch."

Fëanor, Maeglin and Eöl all sigh, and look away. 

Nearby, Námo shakes his head, amused, and a Maia guard looks askance at him.  "I thought Maeglin was not married.  His cousin refused his affections."

"You think they mean their lost mates?"  Námo laughs and the sound shivers through the halls like a frigid wind through the quaking leaves.  "They're talking about metal."


	47. The Trouble With Balrogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just kind of cracky. Oh well. :p

  


* * *

"It was one."

One black eyebrow arched sharply over a silver-blue eye that cast a skeptical look upon the speaker. Ecthelion turned to Glorfindel. "I'm sorry, did I miss seeing him there? I was a bit busy at the time."

"Mm." Pursing his lips, Glorfindel thought for a moment. "I recall Tuor and Egalmoth, and a great many dead elves." He turned to the one who had made the statement. "No. He was not there."

"And where were you?" Though his tone was polite, there was no doubt Ecthelion was calling for cards to be laid on the table.

Waving an ink-stained hand, the elf shook his head. "We have the records from those who survived."

Glorfindel snorted. "And here I thought I saw the entire thing."

"You must be mistaken. Head wound or some such thing."

"Doubtless." Glorfindel shrugged and turned a deceptively lazy gaze upon the scribe. "Whose account do you reference?"

The scribe shuffled his parchment. "Pengolodh, of course, and Lord Salgant."

Nodding, Glorfindel turned to his friend. "It's clear you were wounded and badly mistaken, Ecthelion." He put a solicitous hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps you took a knock to the head."

"And saw four balrogs instead of one."

"Very likely."

The scribe's face was flushing a very unbecoming shade of red as he sputtered, "Lord Salgant clearly recorded that it was sheer fortune that had Gothmog fall at the same time you did." He cleared his throat as Ecthelion again arched one dubious eyebrow. "My lord."

With a shrug, Ecthelion stood. "Very well."

"You're not letting this go!"

With a charming smile, Ecthelion took hold of the scribe's elbow. "Come along. We're going to settle this once and for all."

"How?" Realizing that protesting would likely get him dragged along, the scribe hurried to keep up with the taller man's stride.

"By asking Lord Námo, of course." Ecthelion stopped and smiled. "You do believe him to be a fair judge of events, yes?"

"Or Vaire." Glorfindel nodded. "She could show him the tapestry."

The smile was grim, but Ecthelion nodded. "You could see for yourself if it was one or four balrogs in the battle."

"Oh..." Digging in his heels, the scribe shook his head. "I'm sure they're far too busy to answer such a trivial matter."

"Trivial?" Glorfindel grabbed the scribe's elbow and pulled him along, ignoring his protestations.

* * *

"It keeps changing." Squinting as the woven tale of the fall of Gondolin shifted from one scene with four balrogs dying at the hands of Ecthelion to a similar one where he faced off with only Gothmog, Ecthelion turned to Vaire. "I don't understand."

"It's a bit tricky when the editing and string theory get all complicated." Vaire sighed. "You see, while you recall one event, there are actually two possible outcomes to the tale." She smiled. "Sometimes a great many more!"

"Two... possible..." Glorfindel blinked once, trying to absorb the statement. He cleared his throat. "My Lady Vaire, I truly fail to see how one battle could result in two outcomes? It's either one or the other."

Vaire beamed at them. "Linear thinking is so adorable!" As all three elves stared, she sighed. "I apologize. Sometimes I forget that ...well, never mind. Let's see, how to explain this..."

* * *

Ecthelion and Glorfindel sat with the scribe, all three silent, staring at the clouds racing across the evening sky. "Do you think... possibly..."

"Spit it out, Ecthelion." Glorfindel huffed a long breath and shook his head. "And don't be polite."

A shrug, and Ecthelion said, "This is all some tale told by a bard in some distant land, and the reason there are two versions of what you and I recall is ..." He grimaced. "He was editing?"

"She did mention editing." The scribe fell silent as both of the Elf Lord's gazes fell on him.

"We're just characters."

Ecthelion rubbed his neck. "Perhaps?"

With a snort, Glorfindel pulled his friend to his feet. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Hurrying to keep from being dragged, Ecthelion pulled his arm free. "Glorfindel, where are we going?"

"To see Círdan. And Eärendil." Glorfindel scowled at the night sky. "I'd go question Fëanor himself if Námo would allow it."

"For what?"

He'd never been one to let the seemingly impossible stop him. Never. "To find out how to get back to Middle-earth. I can't live here and listen to more of this inane insanity of editing and characters in a tale and -" He flung out a hand. "They've made the trip a thousand times and more! If anyone can get back it will be one of those two."

"And then what, fade?"

"It's a magical world, Ecthelion, old friend..." The smile was bright and joyful. "Let's go exploring!"*

* * *

* _did you catch that ref? ;D Let me know if you did!_

 

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading!
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